fic: This Time, Maybe
TITLE: This Time, Maybe
AUTHOR: Brio
WORDS: 6,300ish
RATING: PG for language.
PAIRING/CHARACTERS: Rachel/Quinn, side Santana/Brittany
SPOILERS: I started writing this in the middle of the back 9. It’s pretty much AU after Sectionals.
SUMMARY: Quinn, Brittany and Santana go out for Brittany’s birthday. Blast from the past comes in the form of Rachel Berry. Future fic.
NOTES: As usual, thanks to ilsu for putting up with my neuroticism regarding anything that I write and darchino for telling me to leave it as it is. Any grammar/spelling is my fault. Also, fluff. And some more fluff.
NOTES 2: Part of this fic takes place at something not entirely dissimilar from Upright Cabaret, which I know next to nothing about apart from it produces awesome performances from awesome people. So I’ve basically just made it fit around whatever’s in the fic.
Quinn slides on her sunglasses as she walks out of LAX, slipping into the taxi at the front of the queue. The address tumbles from her lips and the driver speeds off, leaving Quinn to watch the city fly past on the way to her best friends’ house. It’s been a long six months since she’s made it down to Los Angeles, a visit she’s been making every couple of months since graduating from university and landing a job where monthly trips to Los Angeles using company airmiles is perfectly acceptable. Even while she was at university, trips during vacation were made to Los Angeles, not to Lima. This afternoon she’s meeting with a couple of artists so that the visit isn’t entirely personal, though she’s pretty sure her boss wouldn’t mind.
Brittany is waiting on the porch when the taxi pulls up and eagerly jumps to her feet, calling for Santana and waking up their sleeping puppy from his late morning nap. He yawns before yapping a couple of times and running into the house.
“Quinn!” Brittany exclaims, bounding down the path to envelop her best friend in a bone-crushing hug. Quinn drops her bag so that she can hug Brittany a little tighter, “I love your hair!” Quinn makes a face as she pulls back from Brittany.
“I don’t know… I think it makes me look old,” Quinn says, reaching down for her bag.
“You look hot,” Brittany says, flipping the hair as they link arms and walk up the path. Santana appears in the doorway and grins.
“Hey Q,” she says. The two embrace. It isn’t as enthusiastic as Brittany’s hug, but Santana isn’t exactly one for public displays of affection unless Brittany’s on the receiving end. She takes Quinn’s bag and throws it into the guest bedroom. The puppy follows her, tongue lolling out of it’s mouth. Brittany leans down to scoop the dog up.
“This is Harry,” Brittany coos over the black Labrador who starts to wriggle in her arms. Quinn is astounded that the dog’s name is remarkably normal but doesn’t comment on it. They settle in the lounge and spend an hour catching up before Quinn receives a phone call from one of the artists she’s meeting with.
“I have to head into the city,” she says apologetically, “But these meetings will be short. I’ll be back in plenty of time for tonight.”
“I’ll drop you off,” Santana says rising up from her chair, “I have to swing past the office for a couple of hours.” Brittany and Harry head off to the beach and Santana drives Quinn to her first meeting.
“Are you really going to the office?” Quinn asks, raising an eyebrow at Santana when they pause at traffic lights.
“Nah,” Santana says, a lazy grin spreading across her face, “I have to stop by at the place we’re going tonight to make sure things are set up and then I have to make a quick stop at the jewellers for Britt’s other present.” Harry had been an early birthday surprise for Brittany after months of persistent bugging.
“So you’re asking her tonight?” Quinn asks, unable to keep the grin from her face.
“That’s the plan,” Santana says sounding a little nervous, “I mean, her birthday isn’t until tomorrow, so I was thinking that I’d wait until midnight and then… y’know… ask.”
“You sound so blasé about it all,” Quinn says, “I’d be a complete nervous wreck.”
“But in order for you to ask someone to marry you, you would actually have to date someone,” Santana says, her eyes not leaving the road. Quinn rolls her eyes. Her lovelife is something she avoids talking about with Santana but somehow the brunette always manages to drag up the fact that her best friend is single though they never discuss the reasons for it.
“I’m busy,” she says, “Work is hectic and… I have other stuff going on. Dating is the last thing on my mind.”
“I’m sure,” Santana says disbelievingly. She pulls up at Quinn’s first stop, “Call me when you’re done and I’ll come pick you up.”
“Thanks S,” Quinn says reaching for handle. She hops out of the car and waves as her best friend drives off.
**
“So where are we going tonight anyway?” Quinn asks, as she puts the finishing touches to her hair.
“Some cabaret place Britt’s friend works at,” Santana says handing Quinn a glass of wine as they wait for the birthday girl to appear, “It’s pretty cool. The food is good, there’s a live band, people sing. It’s like upmarket karaoke.”
“You hate karaoke,” Quinn notes, tasting her wine and nodding her approval.
“I love her though,” Santana says with a bashful smile. She clears her throat a moment later when Quinn grins at her. “Even if it means putting up with some horrendous wannabe murdering ‘I Will Survive’ or anything from Celine Dion’s discography.” Quinn chuckles. Harry bounds into the room, shaking a ragged teddy bear in his mouth.
“Isn’t that Carlos?” Quinn asks in mock horror as she watches parts of Santana’s favourite childhood toy fall to the ground.
“It was Carlos,” Santana says nodding grimly, “He chews everything but I figure it’s better that he chews on this than on a pair of my Louboutins.” Quinn nods sagely before giggling as Carlos is abandoned and Harry begins to chase his tail, spinning in circles before he trips over his own feet and falls to the ground, “Silly mutt,” she says with a huge grin on her face, swooping down to tickle the puppy who starts to bark and run around the room again.
Brittany makes her entrance, completely stunning as usual, and Quinn watches Santana’s jaw drop just a little and feels a pang in her chest. It’s been a long time since anyone looked at her like that.
“Ready to go?” Brittany asks, after giving them a twirl. Santana, lost for words, merely nods and Quinn pulls the brunette off the couch, pushing her towards the door.
A crowd of Brittany’s friends from college and work are waiting for them when they arrive, all seated around a long table. Quinn ends up sitting between Santana and overly enthusiastic colleague of Brittany’s.
“Shelley,” the woman says, shaking Quinn’s hand.
“Quinn,” the blonde replies with a smile.
“Ah, Quinn from the Big Apple,” Shelley says with a nod, “We’ve heard a lot about you.” Quinn makes a face, “Don’t worry, it was all good.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Quinn laughs a little, taking a sip of the wine that Santana’s just poured for her. The conversations around the table flow easily and Quinn settles in with the crowd more readily than she imagined she would.
After dinner, the band starts up and the host kicks things off, singing a medley of Motown songs. He goes around the club, pointing out various parties of people.
“And we have a birthday girl in the house,” he says, “Happy birthday to Brittany…” he checks his card for a last name, “Uh, Brittany!” The table explodes with applause and cheers before the lights move onto the next group, “Some of the cast of We Will Rock You, which has just finished it’s run here in the City of Angels.” There are more whoops and cheers.
After the first act takes the stage, Quinn makes her way to the bar to get Brittany a drink. She’s only half-listening to the host as she pays for the drinks.
“…starring as Galileo and Scaramouche for the past three months, Dylan Wilders and Rachel Berry!” The crowd erupts with cheers as Quinn whips around, her eyes locking with the petite brunette onstage who's sharing a joke with her castmate.
“Oh my god,” Quinn whispers.
**
Quinn is rooted to the spot as she watches the pair on the stage. She blinks a couple of times and considers pinching herself to make sure that she isn’t dreaming. Halfway through ‘I Want to Break Free’, just as Rachel is about to start singing, Santana finds her at the bar, still clutching the drinks she’s just purchased.
“Q?” Santana waves a hand in front of her face.
“Um…” Quinn says, dragging her eyes from Rachel to the anxious face of her best friend, “Well, this is a surprise.” Quinn hands the drinks to Santana and walks to the bathroom, locking herself in a stall for a few minutes to collect herself.
Rachel Berry.
Quinn closes her eyes, resting her head against the stall door. She can hear that voice, that perfect, spine-tingling voice, muted by the closed door.
“Quinn?” Brittany’s voice calls as a blast of music comes through the open door. Quinn opens the door and Brittany looks at her with concern, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Quinn’s voice is squeaky and highly unbelievable but Brittany nods, taking the shorter blonde’s hand in her own.
“Come on,” Brittany tugs her out of the bathroom and back to the table. Rachel is alone onstage for the moment but is quickly joined by four other girls. As soon as the music starts, Santana, Brittany and Quinn exchange a glance and Santana actually laughs.
Memories of Glee, of blue shirts and black ties, of the last time they performed this song, of Rachel’s hand briefly sliding into Quinn’s as Mercedes hit the top note of the song, of tears and hugs and a kiss and a promise to keep in touch. A broken promise, on both their parts. Quinn shakes her head briefly, focusing on the stage again.
Her voice is a lot more mature but the stage presence that Rachel possessed in high school is strong as it ever was. Her dress sense is considerably better too, Quinn notes. A complete lack of argyle and plaid skirts. Infact, Rachel looks amazing. Tight, dark jeans, black boots, a tank that shows off arms Quinn definitely doesn’t remember and hair that is cut into a messy short style. Much shorter than Quinn’s.
Rachel hits the top note and the club starts cheering. Quinn’s eyes fill with tears and she curses herself for being such a sap. It’s just a song, for crying out loud.
“Wow,” she hears Santana breathe behind her.
“I need a drink,” Quinn says, downing the one on the table in front of her and walking quickly to the bar. While she’s waiting for the bartender to finish serving a couple of other customers, Quinn’s thoughts race, not helped by the alcohol her body is trying to ingest.
“Nice work, Rach!” she hears to her right as another bartender appears and a high-five is exchanged, “The usual?”
“She was here before me,” Rachel says politely and Quinn feels her face burn as the bartender turns to her.
“Jack and coke,” Quinn mutters weakly, feeling Rachel’s eyes sweep over her.
“Quinn?” she whispers, tugging on the blonde’s arm. Quinn turns, biting down on her bottom lip as Rachel’s eyes widen, her grip loosening, her mouth falling open as she stares at the blonde, her forehead crumpling in confusion.
“Hi,” Quinn says, attempting a smile but failing miserably.
“Oh my god,” Rachel says, reaching out to hold onto the bar. She opens and closes her mouth a couple of times unable to find the words she wants to say, “Oh my god.”
“Yeah,” Quinn says, smiling a little this time, “Buy you a drink?”
“Mike, I’ll have the usual,” Rachel says not looking at the bartender who nods after glancing between the two women.
**
Twelve years ago, after New Directions took Nationals, Rachel spent the summer auditioning in New York. It was a blow to Quinn, who’d grown close to the unbelievably verbose singer during the final months of her pregnancy. Really close. Close to the point that Quinn moved in with Rachel two weeks before giving birth. It was Rachel who drove Quinn to the hospital when she went into labour while the brunette was baking chocolate chip cookies. It was Rachel, along with Puck, who was in the room while Quinn puffed and panted and screamed, though the latter was directed more at Puck. It was Rachel who held the blonde all night as she cried. Rachel’s dads had taken them home the following day, the baby was already with her new parents and Quinn wanted to get out of the hospital.
Rachel was the one who sat with Quinn in complete silence for hours at a time, until the blonde felt like talking. A feat, Quinn realised later, that must have been tremendously difficult for the girl.
They organised a charity concert, now that the Glee club was sufficiently cool enough. Quinn suspected this was more of a diversionary tactic on Rachel and the rest of the Glee club’s part than for fun. Santana frequently grumbled about missing her family’s annual summer vacation but tended to shut up when Puck and Rachel sent her death stares. It worked though. Quinn was so involved in the concert that she thought less about the baby, about the gaping hole in her life.
Plus she and Rachel started making out on a fairly regular basis. Though that happened a few times before the baby was born as well. Quinn remembers the first time clearly, quite possibly because her sub-conscious had an annoying habit of dropping it into her dreams every so often. They were sitting watching the finale of Grey’s Anatomy and Rachel started crying, as she usually did at anything remotely emotional on TV. Quinn brushed the tears away and then… they kissed. That night, Quinn slept in Rachel’s bed. Or tried to sleep. The baby made it pretty much impossible to get more than two hours at a time.
Summer vacation rolled around and Quinn’s parents begged her to move home. Rachel said it was for the best but they ended up spending most of their time together anyway, until a phone call came from a casting agent in New York. She’d been at the National competition and wanted Rachel to go on a few auditions. Quinn told her to go for it and Rachel hesitated. She didn’t want to leave Quinn or her dads.
But she went. The day after the charity concert, she flew to New York with one of her dads and after a couple of tear-filled fights over the phone, Quinn lost track of Rachel. The brunette got a small role off-Broadway and finished up high school in New York. Quinn graduated with grades above everyone’s expectations, including her own and then disappointed her parents again by choosing Art History at NYU instead of medicine or law, like her sister.
Despite living in the same city, Quinn never ran into Rachel (like she hoped she might) and was too hurt to contemplate looking her up. What if Rachel had moved on? Or gotten married? Quinn didn’t think she could deal with that. So she launched herself into her studies, found that she loved college and her courses, made some really great friends and mystified them all when she turned down dates from some of the most eligible bachelors (and bachelorettes) New York had to offer. Quinn Fabray didn’t want to date, she figured she’d put her heart through enough.
**
“So… what are you doing here?” Rachel asks, after taking a sip from her drink. They haven’t moved away from the bar and Quinn is thankful that she has something to lean against, not really trusting her equilibrium anymore.
“It’s Brittany’s birthday tomorrow,” Quinn says. Rachel’s face lights up and she turns, scanning the club for her, “So we came here for dinner and drinks. And the singing. You were…” Quinn searches for the right word, “Amazing.” Rachel blushes a little.
“It seemed like an easy pick,” she says, “Obviously with singing it over and over in Glee and then having to perform it onstage here, it’s hard to go wrong with Queen. Everyone knows that song.” Rachel pauses, glancing down into her drink which she’s been stirring constantly since she picked it up, “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Me neither,” Quinn says, “I mean… I can’t believe you’re here. That we’re both here. At the same time. Together.” She stops, wondering if she could sound slightly more moronic, “Do you want to maybe sit down?” Quinn gestures to a table not far from the bar that’s just become free. Rachel nods and follows the blonde over. Rachel looks as though she’s wrestling with a thousand emotions and words and can’t decide what to do or what to say next. Quinn watches the person onstage before catching Santana’s eye. After some covert hand signals, Quinn’s pretty sure that Santana won’t be coming over any time soon.
“You look really good,” Rachel says at last, glancing up to look at the blonde, “I like your hair.”
“Thanks,” Quinn says, subconsciously touching it, “Yours is short! It really suits you.”
“Ah yeah, I shaved it for charity about a year ago,” Rachel says lifting her hand to play with the ends of her hair, “I was in a play where I wore wigs or hats all the time, so I figured it was a good time to do it. And the Queen show required a lot of wigs too, so I kept it short. I need to start growing it out though. I head back to New York tomorrow to start rehearsals for Rent.”
“Rent? That’s awesome,” Quinn says. Rachel nods in response, her guard dropping slightly as she allows herself a grin.
“I can’t wait to go back,” Rachel says, “It’s been so great living over here and starring in this show, but I miss my apartment and my dads and my cat.”
“Your dads moved to New York then?” Quinn asks.
“Five years ago,” Rachel says with a nod, “Dad got a job lecturing and they missed me and there wasn’t anything tying them to Lima… so they moved. Do you ever go back?”
“Just once,” Quinn says and Rachel nods, “It was horrible. Now I spend my holidays with Brittany and Santana most of the time so it’s not like I need to go back.”
“Brittany and Santana made it then?” Rachel looks pleased. Quinn leans in close to Rachel.
“Santana is going to propose tonight,” Quinn whispers and Rachel gasps, “Brittany has no idea. Speak of the devils.” Brittany and Santana have made their way over, Santana trying to explain in vain that Rachel and Quinn probably want some time alone to chat and catch up but Brittany isn’t listening.
“Rachel!” she exclaims, throwing her arms around the petite brunette, “I’d forgotten how short you are.”
“Thanks Brittany,” Rachel gasps, as Brittany hugs the air out of her, “Happy Birthday!”
“Thanks,” Brittany grins, “Has Quinn told you about Harry?” Rachel turns back to Quinn, eyebrow raised.
“Harry?” she asks, the tone containing a hint of jealousy.
“He’s Brittany’s new puppy,” Santana says, “Hey Berr… Rachel.” The two share a smile but nothing more, “Come on, Britt. Let’s leave these two to talk.” Santana pushes Brittany towards the bar, sliding her arm around the blonde’s waist. She glances over her shoulder at Quinn as they go, eyes connecting with the blonde’s.
Rachel fidgets with her nearly empty glass, running her finger around the rim of it. Quinn watches her, not sure what to say next or if she should say anything at all.
“Do you maybe…” Rachel starts to say but is interrupted by the host, thrusting a microphone in her face.
“Rachel Berry to the stage,” he says grinning and Rachel rolls her eyes, pushing the microphone away.
“Not tonight, Rick,” she says.
“But you’re going back to the Big Apple tomorrow,” he protests, “Come on, everybody. This could be Rachel’s last performance here for a while. She needs a little encouragement.” Everyone in the club starts cheering and clapping and chanting her name and she rises to her feet, taking the microphone from Rick and shooting an apologetic look at Quinn.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Rachel whispers in her ear before making her way to the stage. There isn’t any doubt in Quinn’s mind that she’s capable of going anywhere anyway. Brittany and Santana join her and the three watch the stage, listening as familiar music starts to play.
“Another Glee song,” Brittany notes, ironically, with glee.
“Maybe this time,” Rachel sings, “I’ll be lucky. Maybe this time she’ll stay.”
Quinn feels her stomach lurch slightly when she hears Rachel switch pronouns. She’s aware of Santana’s eyes on her and tries not to gape at the brunette on the stage.
“She will hold me fast,” Rachel sings, “I’ll be home at last. Not a loser anymore, like the last time and the time before.”
Rachel finds Quinn at the back of the club and locks eyes with her, singing every word to the blonde, ceasing to acknowledge that there’s anyone else in the room. That tended to be the way things went when she found herself in a room with Quinn Fabray anyway.
“It’s gonna happen,” Rachel’s voice takes on an edge of desperation and the crowd can hardly contain itself as she sings the final words of the song, “Happen sometime. Maybe this time, maybe this time, I’ll win.”
Quinn exhales a long breath she isn’t aware that she’s been holding and starts to clap with everyone else. Brittany and Santana disappear as Rachel returns to the table, holding another couple of drinks.
“Maybe after we finish these, we should get out of here?” Rachel asks, sitting down at the table again.
“Sounds like a good idea,” Quinn replies, taking the proffered glass and downing the contents in one gulp. Rachel laughs and follows suit.
“Let me just say goodbye to everyone,” she says, “I’ll see you at the front doors in five?” Quinn nods and goes to get her things from the Brittany’s table.
“Where are you going?” Santana asks, as Quinn picks up her bag and coat.
“I don’t know,” Quinn responds, a grin forming on her lips, “I don’t have a fucking clue, S.”
“Be careful,” Santana says, grabbing Quinn’s arm. Quinn nods, placing her hand on top of Santana’s, pulling the brunette away from the table. Brittany is talking to one of her friends.
“I will,” Quinn says, “You’ll let me know what happens?” Quinn gestures back to the table.
“Of course,” Santana says, suddenly looking nervous.
“She’ll say yes,” Quinn reassures her, drawing her best friend into a hug. She feels the brunette relax slightly and raise her hand to pat Quinn on the back.
“Good luck,” Santana whispers. They pull apart and share another look. Quinn walks back to the table, dropping a kiss onto Brittany’s forehead before heading for the front doors. Rachel is already there, chatting to a couple of people. She signs autographs for them and then spots Quinn.
“Hi,” she says with a smile, “Ready?” She holds out her hand and Quinn hesitantly slides her hand into it, her heart jolting at how familiar it feels after all this time.
“Where are we going?” Quinn asks as Rachel leads her along the street.
“You’ll see,” Rachel responds, flagging down a taxi. They climb in and Rachel rattles off an address that Quinn isn’t familiar with. The taxi makes a u-turn and heads in the direction of the beach. Rachel slips her hand into Quinn’s again and smiles in the darkness, “I’ve missed you.”
“Not here,” Quinn urges, “If you’re going to make me cry, I’d prefer not to be in the back seat of a taxi.” She sees Rachel frown slightly but the brunette turns to look out the window, not saying anything until they reach their destination.
**
“This place is amazing,” Quinn says, surveying the entrance hall while Rachel disables the alarm and goes around switching on lights, “You live here?”
“It’s a friend’s place,” she says, “I got lucky. He got a job in New York. I got a job here, so we switched for a few months. As much as I love New York, I’m definitely going to miss this…” She leads Quinn into a lounge at the back of the house and switches on the lights.
“That’s the ocean,” Quinn says stupidly, walking to the windows, “You’re right on the beach. This is incredible.”
“Want to take a walk?” Rachel asks, sliding the doors open and walking out onto the deck. Quinn watches the brunette slide off her boots before jumping down onto the sand before following her. The sand feels amazing beneath her feet but doesn’t do much for her balance which is already less than stellar due to the alcohol she’s consumed. She catches up with Rachel, finding her stretched out not far from the tide, staring up at the stars, “I’m going to miss the stars.”
“You don’t see enough of them on Broadway?” Quinn asks, dropping down next to Rachel with a thud.
“Funny,” Rachel says, “I do this every night after a show. Come out here and lie in the sand and just stare up at the sky. It’s calming. I feel completely insignificant and alone and it’s perfect.”
“You like being alone?” Quinn says, sinking her fingers into the sand.
“I like getting away from it all,” Rachel says, “Sometimes I can lie here for hours and not see or hear a single person. I spent my adolescence craving attention, demanding attention and while I still enjoy the attention, it gets tiring. I can’t have an ‘off’ moment. I can’t have a bad day. The last time I had a bad day, I was completely lambasted by some tabloid newspaper and suddenly everyone started calling me a diva.” She pauses, “Sorry. I’m rambling. I have a tendency to still do that, when I’m nervous.”
“I noticed that you were lacking… words. At the bar.” Quinn cringes at how stupid that sounds, at her inability to form coherent sentences around Rachel. It used to be the other way around. “I mean, you talk a lot less than I remember.”
“Is that good or bad?” Rachel asks, her hand meeting Quinn’s in the sand.
“I don’t know,” Quinn says, “I kinda got used to the rambling.” They lie in silence for a while. Rachel repeatedly picks up a fistful of sand and lets it drain away on top of Quinn’s arm until her entire forearm is covered, “Trying to bury me, Rachel?”
“Forgive me?” Rachel asks, quickly turning onto her side.
“For what?” Quinn replies, staring resolutely at the stars. She can feel Rachel’s eyes on her but refuses to meet them.
“For leaving you,” Rachel says quietly, “I left at the worst possible time. You were still grieving… and it was selfish of me to give up on you because of a couple of stupid, petty fights we had. Noah, to this day, gives me hell about it, which isn’t necessary. I’ve been torturing myself for the past twelve years.”
“I would have made you go,” Quinn says, “New York was your dream.”
“I could have waited,” Rachel protests, “We could have gone together. We should have. I don’t regret many things, Quinn. I don’t regret getting out of Lima, but I regret leaving you.”
“We were kids, Rachel,” Quinn shouts suddenly, retrieving her arm from the sand and getting to her feet, “We were sixteen years old. We probably wouldn’t have made it, even if we had stayed in Lima and graduated together. Don’t make it into something bigger than it was.” Quinn starts to stumble away, tears clouding her vision. She realises when she reaches the houses on the beachfront that she has no idea which one belongs to Rachel’s friend.
“So it didn’t mean anything?” Rachel demands, catching up with Quinn and steering her a few houses to the left.
“I didn’t say that,” Quinn says, climbing up onto the deck, “We were teenagers. How many couples do you know of from High School that have worked out?” Rachel holds up her hand and starts to count them off.
“Brittany and Santana,” she says, raising one finger, “Tina and Artie, it’s their third anniversary in a month. Kurt and Justin, they’re getting married in Boston at the end of the year. Don’t give me the ‘we were teenagers’ crap. I loved you, Quinn.” The use of the past tense stings Quinn and she looks away from Rachel, who’s trembling with emotion now, “The time we spent together, did it really mean nothing to you? Can you honestly say that you didn’t love me?”
Rachel takes Quinn’s silence as an affirmative and starts to walk away, dazed but the words are boiling up inside her now and she can’t stop them. She turns back to Quinn and raises her finger, jabbing the blonde in the chest.
“Fuck you, Fabray,” she says. As soon as the words leave her mouth, her eyes pop and she covers her mouth with her hands, shaking her head. Quinn’s jaw drops and she stares at Rachel for a few seconds before a laugh escapes her lips. She tries to stop but soon, she’s doubled over, laughter aching in her chest as Rachel stares at her now, an eyebrow raised.
“I’m sorry,” Quinn gasps through the tears that are now streaming down her face. She straightens up and walks towards Rachel, “I’m so sorry.” She pulls Rachel to her in a tight hug, “You’re… you’re just so cute when you swear.”
“Cute? I was going for malevolent,” Rachel’s words are muffled by Quinn’s shoulder, she pulls back and stares up into hazel eyes, “Does this mean you forgive me? I’m slightly confused by the turn this has taken.”
“I blame the alcohol,” Quinn says, pressing her forehead against Rachel’s, their eyes still connected, “How about we forgive each other?”
“I think that sounds good…” Rachel tails off as she watches Quinn bite her bottom lip, smiling slightly, “I’m going to kiss you.”
“I’d like that,” Quinn replies, closing her eyes as their lips meet.
**
Wrapped in a blanket, they watch the sunrise from the sand. Rachel is nestled between Quinn’s legs, Quinn’s head resting on the shorter girl’s shoulder.
“I should go soon,” Quinn says hesitantly. She feels Rachel sigh, “I need to get changed so I can drop you at the airport.”
“You’re coming to the airport with me?” Rachel asks, twisting to look at Quinn who nods in response, “You don’t have to…”
“I want to,” Quinn says, kissing Rachel’s cheek, the corner of her mouth.
“Are we doing something incredibly stupid? We couldn’t even make Lima to New York work…” Rachel trails off, looking perturbed. Quinn’s stomach churns at the lie she’s about to tell.
“I’m in New York all the time for work and stuff,” Quinn shrugs.
“God, how awful am I? I don’t even know what you do,” Rachel says. The pair talked at length through the night about high school and Glee club but didn’t get much further, “See, I think this proves how incapable I am at relationships. All I do is talk about myself.”
“Well, you did that at high school and we managed a tiny little relationship,” Quinn says, sticking out her tongue.
“Ha,” Rachel says mirthlessly, “Tell me stuff about you. University?” Quinn rolls her eyes.
“I went to university, yes,” she says, “I studied Art History and I work for an incredibly well-known gallery. Hence the reason I spend a lot of time in New York. Lots of artists for me to book.”
“I’m sure Russell and Judy loved that,” Rachel says, smiling.
“Absolutely,” Quinn says, “And partly the reason why I’ve seen them once in twelve years.”
“Are you seeing anyone?” Rachel asks, “I only ask because if you are, I think it would be a good idea for you to… not.” Quinn starts to laugh.
“I’m not seeing anyone,” Quinn says, “You?”
“Oh, you know, husband, two kids…” she says with a roll of her eyes, “I’m not seeing anyone either.”
“Good,” Quinn responds, letting her hands slide under Rachel’s t-shirt, running across her flat stomach.
“Why Art History?” Rachel asks, closing her eyes at Quinn’s touch.
“Because someone told me that I could draw,” Quinn says, dropping butterfly kisses to the back of Rachel’s neck as her hands slide higher, “And after you went off to the Big Apple, I filled my days drawing or reading about art or going to galleries. It’s all your fault.”
“I’m sorry,” Rachel moans a little as Quinn‘s hands become more and more insistent, “Can we maybe go inside?” Quinn pulls Rachel to her feet and drags her back towards the house, leaving the blanket on the sand.
**
“So you’ll keep in touch,” Rachel says, unable to look Quinn in the eye. She chews her bottom lip nervously as Quinn reaches for her hand.
“Yes,” Quinn replies, “And… I’ll see you soon.”
“Won’t be soon enough,” Rachel replies with a sigh, “I’m sorry… I’m not especially good at letting things go. It was hard enough saying goodbye the first time.”
“It’ll work out,” Quinn promises, leaning in to kiss Rachel softly on the cheek, “We’ll make it work.”
The final boarding call for Rachel’s flight comes over the tannoy. They hug each other tightly and then Rachel pulls away, grabs her bag and heads through the gate. Quinn waits a couple of minutes before heading back through to the main terminal. Brittany and Santana are waiting with her bags. Quinn had dragged herself away from Rachel long enough to get a taxi to Brittany and Santana’s place and explain that she needed them to take her things to the airport because she was going to surprise Rachel in New York because Rachel didn’t know she lived there. Brittany had zoned out, sitting down to stare contentedly at the diamond ring on her left hand. Santana had sprung into action though, helping the blonde get her things together.
“She’s gone?” Santana asks. Quinn nods, slinging her bag onto her shoulder, “And you didn’t tell her that your flight leaves in just over half an hour and that the likelihood of you two meeting in La Guardia is…”
“Pretty high?” Quinn asks, “I didn’t say anything. I’m just hoping that her plane is delayed or whatever. Or that they lose her bag. Or that her driver is late…” She glances at Santana who rolls her eyes.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she says with a sigh, “Now, go. Good luck.” The pair hug and then Brittany joins them.
“Lobsters mate for life,” Brittany says and Quinn exchanges a glance with Santana.
“Right, bye guys,” Quinn says, running towards check-in. She makes it through customs and is first in line when the plane starts to board.
**
Since she didn’t check any of her bags, Quinn makes it out to the arrivals area in a ridiculously short amount of time. She figures this is a sign and starts to scour the front doors for a tiny brunette with an overflowing trolley, praying to a God that she doesn’t spend enough time talking to that she isn’t too late.
A group of camera-toting tourists move out of the doors dragging their oversized suitcases and Quinn spots Rachel struggling with an uncooperative trolley laden down with bags, looking incredibly disgruntled. Quinn grins to herself and walks up behind her.
“Need a hand?” she offers. Rachel doesn’t turn around at first, pushing the trolley as hard as she can towards the doors.
“No, thank you,” she wheezes.
“You look like you’re struggling…” Quinn says, following her, trying not to laugh. Rachel whirls around, her mouth open, ready to tell whoever was bugging her to back off. Her jaw drops.
“Did I get on the wrong plane?” she asks, glancing around.
“No,” Quinn says.
“Did you invent some sort of time travelling mechanism and pull a Hermione on me?” she asks, folding her arms across her chest.
“No,” Quinn repeats.
“Are you stalking me? Because if you are, this is not really how it’s supposed to go. You’re not meant to let me see you… or talk to you,” Rachel says uncertainly.
“I’m not stalking you,” Quinn says, “I might have neglected to tell you that I don’t live in Los Angeles.” She lets the information sink in for a minute while Rachel stares at her.
“You didn’t think that it was important to tell me that you live here? Do you have any idea how horrendous that plane journey was thinking that I wasn’t going to see you for months? How many times I tried to figure out if I could coerce you into coming with me? Quinn, if this is a joke, I’m going to kick your ass,” Rachel says, setting her jaw uncrossing her arms to grab the trolley that’s now decided to move of it’s own accord.
“After high school, I moved to New York. I studied at NYU and got a degree in Art History. I work for the MOMA,” Quinn says, “I live in Manhattan, in a tiny apartment that I share with a friend from college. There’s barely enough room to swing a cat, but we’re not allowed pets so I figure that’s a moot point.”
“I cried,” Rachel says, folding her arms across her chest again now that she’s got the trolley under control.
“Rachel, that doesn’t come as a shock. You cry at everything,” Quinn says then corrects herself, “You cried at everything. Remember that episode of Grey’s Anatomy? You were still crying when you woke up the next morning.” Quinn steps in closer to the brunette, pulling her arms straight and intertwining their fingers together, “I’m sorry I made you cry.”
Rachel’s already blinking back more tears and laughs to herself. Quinn joins in and rests her forehead against Rachel’s.
“Forgive me?” Quinn asks.
“I’ll think about it,” Rachel says and presses her lips against Quinn’s as her arms slide around the blonde’s waist.
**
AUTHOR: Brio
WORDS: 6,300ish
RATING: PG for language.
PAIRING/CHARACTERS: Rachel/Quinn, side Santana/Brittany
SPOILERS: I started writing this in the middle of the back 9. It’s pretty much AU after Sectionals.
SUMMARY: Quinn, Brittany and Santana go out for Brittany’s birthday. Blast from the past comes in the form of Rachel Berry. Future fic.
NOTES: As usual, thanks to ilsu for putting up with my neuroticism regarding anything that I write and darchino for telling me to leave it as it is. Any grammar/spelling is my fault. Also, fluff. And some more fluff.
NOTES 2: Part of this fic takes place at something not entirely dissimilar from Upright Cabaret, which I know next to nothing about apart from it produces awesome performances from awesome people. So I’ve basically just made it fit around whatever’s in the fic.
Quinn slides on her sunglasses as she walks out of LAX, slipping into the taxi at the front of the queue. The address tumbles from her lips and the driver speeds off, leaving Quinn to watch the city fly past on the way to her best friends’ house. It’s been a long six months since she’s made it down to Los Angeles, a visit she’s been making every couple of months since graduating from university and landing a job where monthly trips to Los Angeles using company airmiles is perfectly acceptable. Even while she was at university, trips during vacation were made to Los Angeles, not to Lima. This afternoon she’s meeting with a couple of artists so that the visit isn’t entirely personal, though she’s pretty sure her boss wouldn’t mind.
Brittany is waiting on the porch when the taxi pulls up and eagerly jumps to her feet, calling for Santana and waking up their sleeping puppy from his late morning nap. He yawns before yapping a couple of times and running into the house.
“Quinn!” Brittany exclaims, bounding down the path to envelop her best friend in a bone-crushing hug. Quinn drops her bag so that she can hug Brittany a little tighter, “I love your hair!” Quinn makes a face as she pulls back from Brittany.
“I don’t know… I think it makes me look old,” Quinn says, reaching down for her bag.
“You look hot,” Brittany says, flipping the hair as they link arms and walk up the path. Santana appears in the doorway and grins.
“Hey Q,” she says. The two embrace. It isn’t as enthusiastic as Brittany’s hug, but Santana isn’t exactly one for public displays of affection unless Brittany’s on the receiving end. She takes Quinn’s bag and throws it into the guest bedroom. The puppy follows her, tongue lolling out of it’s mouth. Brittany leans down to scoop the dog up.
“This is Harry,” Brittany coos over the black Labrador who starts to wriggle in her arms. Quinn is astounded that the dog’s name is remarkably normal but doesn’t comment on it. They settle in the lounge and spend an hour catching up before Quinn receives a phone call from one of the artists she’s meeting with.
“I have to head into the city,” she says apologetically, “But these meetings will be short. I’ll be back in plenty of time for tonight.”
“I’ll drop you off,” Santana says rising up from her chair, “I have to swing past the office for a couple of hours.” Brittany and Harry head off to the beach and Santana drives Quinn to her first meeting.
“Are you really going to the office?” Quinn asks, raising an eyebrow at Santana when they pause at traffic lights.
“Nah,” Santana says, a lazy grin spreading across her face, “I have to stop by at the place we’re going tonight to make sure things are set up and then I have to make a quick stop at the jewellers for Britt’s other present.” Harry had been an early birthday surprise for Brittany after months of persistent bugging.
“So you’re asking her tonight?” Quinn asks, unable to keep the grin from her face.
“That’s the plan,” Santana says sounding a little nervous, “I mean, her birthday isn’t until tomorrow, so I was thinking that I’d wait until midnight and then… y’know… ask.”
“You sound so blasé about it all,” Quinn says, “I’d be a complete nervous wreck.”
“But in order for you to ask someone to marry you, you would actually have to date someone,” Santana says, her eyes not leaving the road. Quinn rolls her eyes. Her lovelife is something she avoids talking about with Santana but somehow the brunette always manages to drag up the fact that her best friend is single though they never discuss the reasons for it.
“I’m busy,” she says, “Work is hectic and… I have other stuff going on. Dating is the last thing on my mind.”
“I’m sure,” Santana says disbelievingly. She pulls up at Quinn’s first stop, “Call me when you’re done and I’ll come pick you up.”
“Thanks S,” Quinn says reaching for handle. She hops out of the car and waves as her best friend drives off.
**
“So where are we going tonight anyway?” Quinn asks, as she puts the finishing touches to her hair.
“Some cabaret place Britt’s friend works at,” Santana says handing Quinn a glass of wine as they wait for the birthday girl to appear, “It’s pretty cool. The food is good, there’s a live band, people sing. It’s like upmarket karaoke.”
“You hate karaoke,” Quinn notes, tasting her wine and nodding her approval.
“I love her though,” Santana says with a bashful smile. She clears her throat a moment later when Quinn grins at her. “Even if it means putting up with some horrendous wannabe murdering ‘I Will Survive’ or anything from Celine Dion’s discography.” Quinn chuckles. Harry bounds into the room, shaking a ragged teddy bear in his mouth.
“Isn’t that Carlos?” Quinn asks in mock horror as she watches parts of Santana’s favourite childhood toy fall to the ground.
“It was Carlos,” Santana says nodding grimly, “He chews everything but I figure it’s better that he chews on this than on a pair of my Louboutins.” Quinn nods sagely before giggling as Carlos is abandoned and Harry begins to chase his tail, spinning in circles before he trips over his own feet and falls to the ground, “Silly mutt,” she says with a huge grin on her face, swooping down to tickle the puppy who starts to bark and run around the room again.
Brittany makes her entrance, completely stunning as usual, and Quinn watches Santana’s jaw drop just a little and feels a pang in her chest. It’s been a long time since anyone looked at her like that.
“Ready to go?” Brittany asks, after giving them a twirl. Santana, lost for words, merely nods and Quinn pulls the brunette off the couch, pushing her towards the door.
A crowd of Brittany’s friends from college and work are waiting for them when they arrive, all seated around a long table. Quinn ends up sitting between Santana and overly enthusiastic colleague of Brittany’s.
“Shelley,” the woman says, shaking Quinn’s hand.
“Quinn,” the blonde replies with a smile.
“Ah, Quinn from the Big Apple,” Shelley says with a nod, “We’ve heard a lot about you.” Quinn makes a face, “Don’t worry, it was all good.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Quinn laughs a little, taking a sip of the wine that Santana’s just poured for her. The conversations around the table flow easily and Quinn settles in with the crowd more readily than she imagined she would.
After dinner, the band starts up and the host kicks things off, singing a medley of Motown songs. He goes around the club, pointing out various parties of people.
“And we have a birthday girl in the house,” he says, “Happy birthday to Brittany…” he checks his card for a last name, “Uh, Brittany!” The table explodes with applause and cheers before the lights move onto the next group, “Some of the cast of We Will Rock You, which has just finished it’s run here in the City of Angels.” There are more whoops and cheers.
After the first act takes the stage, Quinn makes her way to the bar to get Brittany a drink. She’s only half-listening to the host as she pays for the drinks.
“…starring as Galileo and Scaramouche for the past three months, Dylan Wilders and Rachel Berry!” The crowd erupts with cheers as Quinn whips around, her eyes locking with the petite brunette onstage who's sharing a joke with her castmate.
“Oh my god,” Quinn whispers.
**
Quinn is rooted to the spot as she watches the pair on the stage. She blinks a couple of times and considers pinching herself to make sure that she isn’t dreaming. Halfway through ‘I Want to Break Free’, just as Rachel is about to start singing, Santana finds her at the bar, still clutching the drinks she’s just purchased.
“Q?” Santana waves a hand in front of her face.
“Um…” Quinn says, dragging her eyes from Rachel to the anxious face of her best friend, “Well, this is a surprise.” Quinn hands the drinks to Santana and walks to the bathroom, locking herself in a stall for a few minutes to collect herself.
Rachel Berry.
Quinn closes her eyes, resting her head against the stall door. She can hear that voice, that perfect, spine-tingling voice, muted by the closed door.
“Quinn?” Brittany’s voice calls as a blast of music comes through the open door. Quinn opens the door and Brittany looks at her with concern, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Quinn’s voice is squeaky and highly unbelievable but Brittany nods, taking the shorter blonde’s hand in her own.
“Come on,” Brittany tugs her out of the bathroom and back to the table. Rachel is alone onstage for the moment but is quickly joined by four other girls. As soon as the music starts, Santana, Brittany and Quinn exchange a glance and Santana actually laughs.
Memories of Glee, of blue shirts and black ties, of the last time they performed this song, of Rachel’s hand briefly sliding into Quinn’s as Mercedes hit the top note of the song, of tears and hugs and a kiss and a promise to keep in touch. A broken promise, on both their parts. Quinn shakes her head briefly, focusing on the stage again.
Her voice is a lot more mature but the stage presence that Rachel possessed in high school is strong as it ever was. Her dress sense is considerably better too, Quinn notes. A complete lack of argyle and plaid skirts. Infact, Rachel looks amazing. Tight, dark jeans, black boots, a tank that shows off arms Quinn definitely doesn’t remember and hair that is cut into a messy short style. Much shorter than Quinn’s.
Rachel hits the top note and the club starts cheering. Quinn’s eyes fill with tears and she curses herself for being such a sap. It’s just a song, for crying out loud.
“Wow,” she hears Santana breathe behind her.
“I need a drink,” Quinn says, downing the one on the table in front of her and walking quickly to the bar. While she’s waiting for the bartender to finish serving a couple of other customers, Quinn’s thoughts race, not helped by the alcohol her body is trying to ingest.
“Nice work, Rach!” she hears to her right as another bartender appears and a high-five is exchanged, “The usual?”
“She was here before me,” Rachel says politely and Quinn feels her face burn as the bartender turns to her.
“Jack and coke,” Quinn mutters weakly, feeling Rachel’s eyes sweep over her.
“Quinn?” she whispers, tugging on the blonde’s arm. Quinn turns, biting down on her bottom lip as Rachel’s eyes widen, her grip loosening, her mouth falling open as she stares at the blonde, her forehead crumpling in confusion.
“Hi,” Quinn says, attempting a smile but failing miserably.
“Oh my god,” Rachel says, reaching out to hold onto the bar. She opens and closes her mouth a couple of times unable to find the words she wants to say, “Oh my god.”
“Yeah,” Quinn says, smiling a little this time, “Buy you a drink?”
“Mike, I’ll have the usual,” Rachel says not looking at the bartender who nods after glancing between the two women.
**
Twelve years ago, after New Directions took Nationals, Rachel spent the summer auditioning in New York. It was a blow to Quinn, who’d grown close to the unbelievably verbose singer during the final months of her pregnancy. Really close. Close to the point that Quinn moved in with Rachel two weeks before giving birth. It was Rachel who drove Quinn to the hospital when she went into labour while the brunette was baking chocolate chip cookies. It was Rachel, along with Puck, who was in the room while Quinn puffed and panted and screamed, though the latter was directed more at Puck. It was Rachel who held the blonde all night as she cried. Rachel’s dads had taken them home the following day, the baby was already with her new parents and Quinn wanted to get out of the hospital.
Rachel was the one who sat with Quinn in complete silence for hours at a time, until the blonde felt like talking. A feat, Quinn realised later, that must have been tremendously difficult for the girl.
They organised a charity concert, now that the Glee club was sufficiently cool enough. Quinn suspected this was more of a diversionary tactic on Rachel and the rest of the Glee club’s part than for fun. Santana frequently grumbled about missing her family’s annual summer vacation but tended to shut up when Puck and Rachel sent her death stares. It worked though. Quinn was so involved in the concert that she thought less about the baby, about the gaping hole in her life.
Plus she and Rachel started making out on a fairly regular basis. Though that happened a few times before the baby was born as well. Quinn remembers the first time clearly, quite possibly because her sub-conscious had an annoying habit of dropping it into her dreams every so often. They were sitting watching the finale of Grey’s Anatomy and Rachel started crying, as she usually did at anything remotely emotional on TV. Quinn brushed the tears away and then… they kissed. That night, Quinn slept in Rachel’s bed. Or tried to sleep. The baby made it pretty much impossible to get more than two hours at a time.
Summer vacation rolled around and Quinn’s parents begged her to move home. Rachel said it was for the best but they ended up spending most of their time together anyway, until a phone call came from a casting agent in New York. She’d been at the National competition and wanted Rachel to go on a few auditions. Quinn told her to go for it and Rachel hesitated. She didn’t want to leave Quinn or her dads.
But she went. The day after the charity concert, she flew to New York with one of her dads and after a couple of tear-filled fights over the phone, Quinn lost track of Rachel. The brunette got a small role off-Broadway and finished up high school in New York. Quinn graduated with grades above everyone’s expectations, including her own and then disappointed her parents again by choosing Art History at NYU instead of medicine or law, like her sister.
Despite living in the same city, Quinn never ran into Rachel (like she hoped she might) and was too hurt to contemplate looking her up. What if Rachel had moved on? Or gotten married? Quinn didn’t think she could deal with that. So she launched herself into her studies, found that she loved college and her courses, made some really great friends and mystified them all when she turned down dates from some of the most eligible bachelors (and bachelorettes) New York had to offer. Quinn Fabray didn’t want to date, she figured she’d put her heart through enough.
**
“So… what are you doing here?” Rachel asks, after taking a sip from her drink. They haven’t moved away from the bar and Quinn is thankful that she has something to lean against, not really trusting her equilibrium anymore.
“It’s Brittany’s birthday tomorrow,” Quinn says. Rachel’s face lights up and she turns, scanning the club for her, “So we came here for dinner and drinks. And the singing. You were…” Quinn searches for the right word, “Amazing.” Rachel blushes a little.
“It seemed like an easy pick,” she says, “Obviously with singing it over and over in Glee and then having to perform it onstage here, it’s hard to go wrong with Queen. Everyone knows that song.” Rachel pauses, glancing down into her drink which she’s been stirring constantly since she picked it up, “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Me neither,” Quinn says, “I mean… I can’t believe you’re here. That we’re both here. At the same time. Together.” She stops, wondering if she could sound slightly more moronic, “Do you want to maybe sit down?” Quinn gestures to a table not far from the bar that’s just become free. Rachel nods and follows the blonde over. Rachel looks as though she’s wrestling with a thousand emotions and words and can’t decide what to do or what to say next. Quinn watches the person onstage before catching Santana’s eye. After some covert hand signals, Quinn’s pretty sure that Santana won’t be coming over any time soon.
“You look really good,” Rachel says at last, glancing up to look at the blonde, “I like your hair.”
“Thanks,” Quinn says, subconsciously touching it, “Yours is short! It really suits you.”
“Ah yeah, I shaved it for charity about a year ago,” Rachel says lifting her hand to play with the ends of her hair, “I was in a play where I wore wigs or hats all the time, so I figured it was a good time to do it. And the Queen show required a lot of wigs too, so I kept it short. I need to start growing it out though. I head back to New York tomorrow to start rehearsals for Rent.”
“Rent? That’s awesome,” Quinn says. Rachel nods in response, her guard dropping slightly as she allows herself a grin.
“I can’t wait to go back,” Rachel says, “It’s been so great living over here and starring in this show, but I miss my apartment and my dads and my cat.”
“Your dads moved to New York then?” Quinn asks.
“Five years ago,” Rachel says with a nod, “Dad got a job lecturing and they missed me and there wasn’t anything tying them to Lima… so they moved. Do you ever go back?”
“Just once,” Quinn says and Rachel nods, “It was horrible. Now I spend my holidays with Brittany and Santana most of the time so it’s not like I need to go back.”
“Brittany and Santana made it then?” Rachel looks pleased. Quinn leans in close to Rachel.
“Santana is going to propose tonight,” Quinn whispers and Rachel gasps, “Brittany has no idea. Speak of the devils.” Brittany and Santana have made their way over, Santana trying to explain in vain that Rachel and Quinn probably want some time alone to chat and catch up but Brittany isn’t listening.
“Rachel!” she exclaims, throwing her arms around the petite brunette, “I’d forgotten how short you are.”
“Thanks Brittany,” Rachel gasps, as Brittany hugs the air out of her, “Happy Birthday!”
“Thanks,” Brittany grins, “Has Quinn told you about Harry?” Rachel turns back to Quinn, eyebrow raised.
“Harry?” she asks, the tone containing a hint of jealousy.
“He’s Brittany’s new puppy,” Santana says, “Hey Berr… Rachel.” The two share a smile but nothing more, “Come on, Britt. Let’s leave these two to talk.” Santana pushes Brittany towards the bar, sliding her arm around the blonde’s waist. She glances over her shoulder at Quinn as they go, eyes connecting with the blonde’s.
Rachel fidgets with her nearly empty glass, running her finger around the rim of it. Quinn watches her, not sure what to say next or if she should say anything at all.
“Do you maybe…” Rachel starts to say but is interrupted by the host, thrusting a microphone in her face.
“Rachel Berry to the stage,” he says grinning and Rachel rolls her eyes, pushing the microphone away.
“Not tonight, Rick,” she says.
“But you’re going back to the Big Apple tomorrow,” he protests, “Come on, everybody. This could be Rachel’s last performance here for a while. She needs a little encouragement.” Everyone in the club starts cheering and clapping and chanting her name and she rises to her feet, taking the microphone from Rick and shooting an apologetic look at Quinn.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Rachel whispers in her ear before making her way to the stage. There isn’t any doubt in Quinn’s mind that she’s capable of going anywhere anyway. Brittany and Santana join her and the three watch the stage, listening as familiar music starts to play.
“Another Glee song,” Brittany notes, ironically, with glee.
“Maybe this time,” Rachel sings, “I’ll be lucky. Maybe this time she’ll stay.”
Quinn feels her stomach lurch slightly when she hears Rachel switch pronouns. She’s aware of Santana’s eyes on her and tries not to gape at the brunette on the stage.
“She will hold me fast,” Rachel sings, “I’ll be home at last. Not a loser anymore, like the last time and the time before.”
Rachel finds Quinn at the back of the club and locks eyes with her, singing every word to the blonde, ceasing to acknowledge that there’s anyone else in the room. That tended to be the way things went when she found herself in a room with Quinn Fabray anyway.
“It’s gonna happen,” Rachel’s voice takes on an edge of desperation and the crowd can hardly contain itself as she sings the final words of the song, “Happen sometime. Maybe this time, maybe this time, I’ll win.”
Quinn exhales a long breath she isn’t aware that she’s been holding and starts to clap with everyone else. Brittany and Santana disappear as Rachel returns to the table, holding another couple of drinks.
“Maybe after we finish these, we should get out of here?” Rachel asks, sitting down at the table again.
“Sounds like a good idea,” Quinn replies, taking the proffered glass and downing the contents in one gulp. Rachel laughs and follows suit.
“Let me just say goodbye to everyone,” she says, “I’ll see you at the front doors in five?” Quinn nods and goes to get her things from the Brittany’s table.
“Where are you going?” Santana asks, as Quinn picks up her bag and coat.
“I don’t know,” Quinn responds, a grin forming on her lips, “I don’t have a fucking clue, S.”
“Be careful,” Santana says, grabbing Quinn’s arm. Quinn nods, placing her hand on top of Santana’s, pulling the brunette away from the table. Brittany is talking to one of her friends.
“I will,” Quinn says, “You’ll let me know what happens?” Quinn gestures back to the table.
“Of course,” Santana says, suddenly looking nervous.
“She’ll say yes,” Quinn reassures her, drawing her best friend into a hug. She feels the brunette relax slightly and raise her hand to pat Quinn on the back.
“Good luck,” Santana whispers. They pull apart and share another look. Quinn walks back to the table, dropping a kiss onto Brittany’s forehead before heading for the front doors. Rachel is already there, chatting to a couple of people. She signs autographs for them and then spots Quinn.
“Hi,” she says with a smile, “Ready?” She holds out her hand and Quinn hesitantly slides her hand into it, her heart jolting at how familiar it feels after all this time.
“Where are we going?” Quinn asks as Rachel leads her along the street.
“You’ll see,” Rachel responds, flagging down a taxi. They climb in and Rachel rattles off an address that Quinn isn’t familiar with. The taxi makes a u-turn and heads in the direction of the beach. Rachel slips her hand into Quinn’s again and smiles in the darkness, “I’ve missed you.”
“Not here,” Quinn urges, “If you’re going to make me cry, I’d prefer not to be in the back seat of a taxi.” She sees Rachel frown slightly but the brunette turns to look out the window, not saying anything until they reach their destination.
**
“This place is amazing,” Quinn says, surveying the entrance hall while Rachel disables the alarm and goes around switching on lights, “You live here?”
“It’s a friend’s place,” she says, “I got lucky. He got a job in New York. I got a job here, so we switched for a few months. As much as I love New York, I’m definitely going to miss this…” She leads Quinn into a lounge at the back of the house and switches on the lights.
“That’s the ocean,” Quinn says stupidly, walking to the windows, “You’re right on the beach. This is incredible.”
“Want to take a walk?” Rachel asks, sliding the doors open and walking out onto the deck. Quinn watches the brunette slide off her boots before jumping down onto the sand before following her. The sand feels amazing beneath her feet but doesn’t do much for her balance which is already less than stellar due to the alcohol she’s consumed. She catches up with Rachel, finding her stretched out not far from the tide, staring up at the stars, “I’m going to miss the stars.”
“You don’t see enough of them on Broadway?” Quinn asks, dropping down next to Rachel with a thud.
“Funny,” Rachel says, “I do this every night after a show. Come out here and lie in the sand and just stare up at the sky. It’s calming. I feel completely insignificant and alone and it’s perfect.”
“You like being alone?” Quinn says, sinking her fingers into the sand.
“I like getting away from it all,” Rachel says, “Sometimes I can lie here for hours and not see or hear a single person. I spent my adolescence craving attention, demanding attention and while I still enjoy the attention, it gets tiring. I can’t have an ‘off’ moment. I can’t have a bad day. The last time I had a bad day, I was completely lambasted by some tabloid newspaper and suddenly everyone started calling me a diva.” She pauses, “Sorry. I’m rambling. I have a tendency to still do that, when I’m nervous.”
“I noticed that you were lacking… words. At the bar.” Quinn cringes at how stupid that sounds, at her inability to form coherent sentences around Rachel. It used to be the other way around. “I mean, you talk a lot less than I remember.”
“Is that good or bad?” Rachel asks, her hand meeting Quinn’s in the sand.
“I don’t know,” Quinn says, “I kinda got used to the rambling.” They lie in silence for a while. Rachel repeatedly picks up a fistful of sand and lets it drain away on top of Quinn’s arm until her entire forearm is covered, “Trying to bury me, Rachel?”
“Forgive me?” Rachel asks, quickly turning onto her side.
“For what?” Quinn replies, staring resolutely at the stars. She can feel Rachel’s eyes on her but refuses to meet them.
“For leaving you,” Rachel says quietly, “I left at the worst possible time. You were still grieving… and it was selfish of me to give up on you because of a couple of stupid, petty fights we had. Noah, to this day, gives me hell about it, which isn’t necessary. I’ve been torturing myself for the past twelve years.”
“I would have made you go,” Quinn says, “New York was your dream.”
“I could have waited,” Rachel protests, “We could have gone together. We should have. I don’t regret many things, Quinn. I don’t regret getting out of Lima, but I regret leaving you.”
“We were kids, Rachel,” Quinn shouts suddenly, retrieving her arm from the sand and getting to her feet, “We were sixteen years old. We probably wouldn’t have made it, even if we had stayed in Lima and graduated together. Don’t make it into something bigger than it was.” Quinn starts to stumble away, tears clouding her vision. She realises when she reaches the houses on the beachfront that she has no idea which one belongs to Rachel’s friend.
“So it didn’t mean anything?” Rachel demands, catching up with Quinn and steering her a few houses to the left.
“I didn’t say that,” Quinn says, climbing up onto the deck, “We were teenagers. How many couples do you know of from High School that have worked out?” Rachel holds up her hand and starts to count them off.
“Brittany and Santana,” she says, raising one finger, “Tina and Artie, it’s their third anniversary in a month. Kurt and Justin, they’re getting married in Boston at the end of the year. Don’t give me the ‘we were teenagers’ crap. I loved you, Quinn.” The use of the past tense stings Quinn and she looks away from Rachel, who’s trembling with emotion now, “The time we spent together, did it really mean nothing to you? Can you honestly say that you didn’t love me?”
Rachel takes Quinn’s silence as an affirmative and starts to walk away, dazed but the words are boiling up inside her now and she can’t stop them. She turns back to Quinn and raises her finger, jabbing the blonde in the chest.
“Fuck you, Fabray,” she says. As soon as the words leave her mouth, her eyes pop and she covers her mouth with her hands, shaking her head. Quinn’s jaw drops and she stares at Rachel for a few seconds before a laugh escapes her lips. She tries to stop but soon, she’s doubled over, laughter aching in her chest as Rachel stares at her now, an eyebrow raised.
“I’m sorry,” Quinn gasps through the tears that are now streaming down her face. She straightens up and walks towards Rachel, “I’m so sorry.” She pulls Rachel to her in a tight hug, “You’re… you’re just so cute when you swear.”
“Cute? I was going for malevolent,” Rachel’s words are muffled by Quinn’s shoulder, she pulls back and stares up into hazel eyes, “Does this mean you forgive me? I’m slightly confused by the turn this has taken.”
“I blame the alcohol,” Quinn says, pressing her forehead against Rachel’s, their eyes still connected, “How about we forgive each other?”
“I think that sounds good…” Rachel tails off as she watches Quinn bite her bottom lip, smiling slightly, “I’m going to kiss you.”
“I’d like that,” Quinn replies, closing her eyes as their lips meet.
**
Wrapped in a blanket, they watch the sunrise from the sand. Rachel is nestled between Quinn’s legs, Quinn’s head resting on the shorter girl’s shoulder.
“I should go soon,” Quinn says hesitantly. She feels Rachel sigh, “I need to get changed so I can drop you at the airport.”
“You’re coming to the airport with me?” Rachel asks, twisting to look at Quinn who nods in response, “You don’t have to…”
“I want to,” Quinn says, kissing Rachel’s cheek, the corner of her mouth.
“Are we doing something incredibly stupid? We couldn’t even make Lima to New York work…” Rachel trails off, looking perturbed. Quinn’s stomach churns at the lie she’s about to tell.
“I’m in New York all the time for work and stuff,” Quinn shrugs.
“God, how awful am I? I don’t even know what you do,” Rachel says. The pair talked at length through the night about high school and Glee club but didn’t get much further, “See, I think this proves how incapable I am at relationships. All I do is talk about myself.”
“Well, you did that at high school and we managed a tiny little relationship,” Quinn says, sticking out her tongue.
“Ha,” Rachel says mirthlessly, “Tell me stuff about you. University?” Quinn rolls her eyes.
“I went to university, yes,” she says, “I studied Art History and I work for an incredibly well-known gallery. Hence the reason I spend a lot of time in New York. Lots of artists for me to book.”
“I’m sure Russell and Judy loved that,” Rachel says, smiling.
“Absolutely,” Quinn says, “And partly the reason why I’ve seen them once in twelve years.”
“Are you seeing anyone?” Rachel asks, “I only ask because if you are, I think it would be a good idea for you to… not.” Quinn starts to laugh.
“I’m not seeing anyone,” Quinn says, “You?”
“Oh, you know, husband, two kids…” she says with a roll of her eyes, “I’m not seeing anyone either.”
“Good,” Quinn responds, letting her hands slide under Rachel’s t-shirt, running across her flat stomach.
“Why Art History?” Rachel asks, closing her eyes at Quinn’s touch.
“Because someone told me that I could draw,” Quinn says, dropping butterfly kisses to the back of Rachel’s neck as her hands slide higher, “And after you went off to the Big Apple, I filled my days drawing or reading about art or going to galleries. It’s all your fault.”
“I’m sorry,” Rachel moans a little as Quinn‘s hands become more and more insistent, “Can we maybe go inside?” Quinn pulls Rachel to her feet and drags her back towards the house, leaving the blanket on the sand.
**
“So you’ll keep in touch,” Rachel says, unable to look Quinn in the eye. She chews her bottom lip nervously as Quinn reaches for her hand.
“Yes,” Quinn replies, “And… I’ll see you soon.”
“Won’t be soon enough,” Rachel replies with a sigh, “I’m sorry… I’m not especially good at letting things go. It was hard enough saying goodbye the first time.”
“It’ll work out,” Quinn promises, leaning in to kiss Rachel softly on the cheek, “We’ll make it work.”
The final boarding call for Rachel’s flight comes over the tannoy. They hug each other tightly and then Rachel pulls away, grabs her bag and heads through the gate. Quinn waits a couple of minutes before heading back through to the main terminal. Brittany and Santana are waiting with her bags. Quinn had dragged herself away from Rachel long enough to get a taxi to Brittany and Santana’s place and explain that she needed them to take her things to the airport because she was going to surprise Rachel in New York because Rachel didn’t know she lived there. Brittany had zoned out, sitting down to stare contentedly at the diamond ring on her left hand. Santana had sprung into action though, helping the blonde get her things together.
“She’s gone?” Santana asks. Quinn nods, slinging her bag onto her shoulder, “And you didn’t tell her that your flight leaves in just over half an hour and that the likelihood of you two meeting in La Guardia is…”
“Pretty high?” Quinn asks, “I didn’t say anything. I’m just hoping that her plane is delayed or whatever. Or that they lose her bag. Or that her driver is late…” She glances at Santana who rolls her eyes.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she says with a sigh, “Now, go. Good luck.” The pair hug and then Brittany joins them.
“Lobsters mate for life,” Brittany says and Quinn exchanges a glance with Santana.
“Right, bye guys,” Quinn says, running towards check-in. She makes it through customs and is first in line when the plane starts to board.
**
Since she didn’t check any of her bags, Quinn makes it out to the arrivals area in a ridiculously short amount of time. She figures this is a sign and starts to scour the front doors for a tiny brunette with an overflowing trolley, praying to a God that she doesn’t spend enough time talking to that she isn’t too late.
A group of camera-toting tourists move out of the doors dragging their oversized suitcases and Quinn spots Rachel struggling with an uncooperative trolley laden down with bags, looking incredibly disgruntled. Quinn grins to herself and walks up behind her.
“Need a hand?” she offers. Rachel doesn’t turn around at first, pushing the trolley as hard as she can towards the doors.
“No, thank you,” she wheezes.
“You look like you’re struggling…” Quinn says, following her, trying not to laugh. Rachel whirls around, her mouth open, ready to tell whoever was bugging her to back off. Her jaw drops.
“Did I get on the wrong plane?” she asks, glancing around.
“No,” Quinn says.
“Did you invent some sort of time travelling mechanism and pull a Hermione on me?” she asks, folding her arms across her chest.
“No,” Quinn repeats.
“Are you stalking me? Because if you are, this is not really how it’s supposed to go. You’re not meant to let me see you… or talk to you,” Rachel says uncertainly.
“I’m not stalking you,” Quinn says, “I might have neglected to tell you that I don’t live in Los Angeles.” She lets the information sink in for a minute while Rachel stares at her.
“You didn’t think that it was important to tell me that you live here? Do you have any idea how horrendous that plane journey was thinking that I wasn’t going to see you for months? How many times I tried to figure out if I could coerce you into coming with me? Quinn, if this is a joke, I’m going to kick your ass,” Rachel says, setting her jaw uncrossing her arms to grab the trolley that’s now decided to move of it’s own accord.
“After high school, I moved to New York. I studied at NYU and got a degree in Art History. I work for the MOMA,” Quinn says, “I live in Manhattan, in a tiny apartment that I share with a friend from college. There’s barely enough room to swing a cat, but we’re not allowed pets so I figure that’s a moot point.”
“I cried,” Rachel says, folding her arms across her chest again now that she’s got the trolley under control.
“Rachel, that doesn’t come as a shock. You cry at everything,” Quinn says then corrects herself, “You cried at everything. Remember that episode of Grey’s Anatomy? You were still crying when you woke up the next morning.” Quinn steps in closer to the brunette, pulling her arms straight and intertwining their fingers together, “I’m sorry I made you cry.”
Rachel’s already blinking back more tears and laughs to herself. Quinn joins in and rests her forehead against Rachel’s.
“Forgive me?” Quinn asks.
“I’ll think about it,” Rachel says and presses her lips against Quinn’s as her arms slide around the blonde’s waist.
**