Fair Warning: I really was in a weird mood when I wrote this, listening to super sad songs. It's a bit dark (with mentions of drug and alcohol) and purposely vague because if I find the time I kind of want to build a whole convoluted story around it.
Learning to Be
It isn't like how it is in the movies...
That; is Rachel's most prominent thought as she brings the bottle to her lips. The acidic tang of the alcohol feels like the punishment she deserves as it burns a path down her throat. There's no sobs, hiccups or haggard sighs. It's not some dramatic moment where the protagonist falls to their knees with a wail while the editing team mutes their agony for cinematic effect. Instead, it is just somebody's broken-hearted normal as Rachel mixes her vices and replays the conversation that had happened.
She hadn't been surprised, not really. Despite the little pills that they handed out at the after-party, she still couldn't escape her emotions. It's been years now but that mobile number is still a part of her muscle memory. She can't help but hold her breath at the first dial tone; unsure as to whether it was a blessing or a curse that the service hadn't been disconnected.
"Hello –Lucy speaking..."
The sleepy voice comes clear across through the connection. The name is different though. Rachel wonders if it's another attempted metamorphosis; an evolution away from the wreckage of their past.
"Hello?"
The greeting is a question this time and if Rachel closes her eyes, she almost smiles. She can imagine the adorable furrow of the brows as confusion overtook those delicate features. Somehow, the question slips out easier than she expects.
"Are you happy?"
There's an audible swallow as realisation dawns and a name is released with caution.
"…Rachel."
The brunette finds herself nodding despite the lack of audience. From her vantage point, her apartment overlooks the city. She could see the bright lights of Broadway, the humdrum of the commuters and the architecture that was so coveted in films. She remembers what it was like to be five years old and believing that this was all that she would ever need. She thinks about what it would be like to convince that five year old that they had been so wrong. She thinks that the constant pain underneath her breastplate would be a good start.
So, Rachel takes slow breath and says.
"Quinn – I hope that you have everything that you wanted."
There's a sharp sigh and a pause. Rachel hears Quinn excuse herself to someone and move to another room. That in itself is like a blow. It's a reminder of how far removed they were from their supposed fairy-tale. Briefly, Rachel tries to picture what it would be like to be the person that got to fall asleep next to Quinn Fabray. And it is only when everything is quiet that she finds the words again.
"I hope that life was kinder to you than I could be."
The apology affects them both as the memories come flooding back. Rachel thinks about the ignored texts and amateurish storm outs. Whilst, Quinn recalls biting tones and what it felt like to be left behind. In the silence, Rachel wonders if Quinn could still identify the nervousness in her tone. After all, more times than not it had always been the blonde to put it there. However, instead there is just a patient question.
"Rachel it's 2AM. Why are you calling?"
It's funny. In high school everyone including Rachel had viewed Quinn as untouchable, mercurial and at times quietly cruel. It isn't until their later years that they can admit how wrong they were. And as Quinn continues to speak to give the singer time to find her bearings, Rachel thinks that she just might drown in the blonde's casual kindness.
"Rachel, congratulations by the way. We watched it on TV tonight. You got a standing ovation from the academy. It's what you've had always talked about, wasn't it?"
There's no accusation embedded in the question anywhere but Rachel wished that there could be. Because, if there were some sort of bitterness, it would show that the blonde still cared enough to be hurt. However in its place, there's just a fond inflection to the 'we' that she's not a part of.
"Quinn – I …"
The bravery doesn't come.
"God, why is this so hard?"
"Rachel, please don't. We said that we wouldn't do this."
"This?"
Rachel's question is met with a resigned sigh.
Somewhere in the city, Quinn Lucy Fabray sits with her knees drawn to her chest and a phone pressed to her cheek. And it's just late enough that her defiant heart takes the reins from a prudent mind. So, she answers, hoping to find a lifeline in Rachel's responses.
"Regret."
"I guess I still can't keep any of my promises."
Rachel finds herself smiling deprecatingly.
"We were meant to be extraordinary you know."
The thought is wistful, sad and so certain in its truthfulness. Tightening her arms defensively around herself, Quinn can't help but challenge it. None of it was real because it was they wouldn't be here like this; secret phone calls in the dead of night.
"Why?"
"Because we had finally gotten it right after everything!"
Quinn clenches her jaw. She ignores her brain's commands to hang up the phone. She hopes that this is closure as she forces herself to listen.
"After Finn…After McKinley…"
Rachel murmurs, holding the near empty bottle up to the light. She watches as the amber liquid crashed uselessly against the shores of the glass. Despite her less than sober state, Rachel knows there's some sort of metaphor about their relationship there.
"We found a way to be each other's safe place. We found a way through Skype and New York metro passes."
For a total of 6 months and 1 week and 4 days they had been so blindingly happy. It was warm gazes over brunch and the weekend paper. It was searing touches that could convince monsters of their own beauty. And it was finding home in wonderful tornado of emotions that only seemed to exist around the other.
"And then – god. Then, I made a mistake. "
Rachel's confession is steeped in self-loathing. And perhaps Quinn still hated it when the singer felt small over everything. It always seemed so incongruent with Rachel's principles and talents. So Quinn tests her old skills. The blonde tries to make things better,
"Rachel… It's alright. I just – I wasn't what you wanted."
"You were everything that I wanted! And wanted to be. But, the prospect of loving like that again was debilitating."
Rachel interrupts. She thinks that if this is her last chance, she'll set the record straight.
"Like what?"
And this time, it's the blonde's turn to be confused.
"Finn left Quinn. He left me all alone in this world with nothing but my dreams. And becoming the star that he believed in so badly seemed like the only tribute I could give him. But I didn't see it coming. I didn't see you."
There's a moment where they don't speak. They take the time to remember the boy who passed away. Finn: who was loyal and gentle, one of the first bridges between them. Rachel shakes her head. She had been so lost after his accident. She couldn't fathom a future that didn't include Finn Hudson sitting front row and center with a bouquet eclectically collected from his mother's garden. For a while happiness seemed like an impossibility – a great big lie told by the universe. But then, there was Santana who felt the need and perhaps the good sense to call Quinn. Well, to drag the blonde down by her cardigans and her ears, really.
And, off they went. It wasn't always easy. Quinn Fabray washed her dishes in soap three times before rinsing, and insisted on rack drying only. In comparison, Rachel believed in early mornings and strict routines. But, during the in between moments, Quinn also taught Rachel how to breathe through the choking feeling in her chest. Quinn forced Rachel's gaze at sculptures, paintings and lyrics until that spark returned. Until Rachel couldn't help but sing again, if only to be a part of living art.
"Hindsight is 20/20 and now I think about it I should have seen it coming. I'm pretty sure some part of me has always been a little in love with you."
The confession itself wasn't a revelation but the confidence behind it, was. Quinn held the phone tighter. They had never talked too much about high school. It had seemed moot – filled with too many instances where they had been scared, defensive and angry. But if the blonde was being honest, her desire to break Rachel might have been borne some part from a desire to understand her own fascination. She had just needed Rachel to not be so 'Rachel,' because then maybe Quinn's heart would learn a normal pace. Rachel, on the other hand, was just very good at the smokescreen. She threw out descriptions like 'friendly admiration' and 'professional jealousy' as if they explained her persistent pursuit and engagement of Quinn into the glee club.
It didn't.
Rachel chuckles mirthlessly.
"So during that one Sunday brunch when you had somehow gotten peanut butter in your hair and chocolate on your nose; the only thought that ran through my mind was that I would give it all up to be with you. To just run away and live in a house by the sea, singing for tourists and spare change. Me – Rachel Berry – would happily do that."
To this moment, there's still disbelief in her tone. Rachel feels her hands shaking and the first tear breaks through the alcoholic numbness.
"And that, scared me beyond comprehension. It felt like a betrayal to Finn and the girl that he loved."
Rachel laughs to herself, feeling every bit like an emotional schizophrenic. Still she pushes on. If her career was actually built on communication whether it was through song or acting; then above all she needed to communicate with Quinn. She needed to show the blonde the pitfalls that they suffered that had never ever been her fault. That burden was on Rachel.
"After all, it isn't healthy right? I mean that's what people say. That you shouldn't let yourself get so deep into a relationship that you forget who you are and which way is up?"
It had sounded like reasonable advice. Yet as Rachel had learned, it was also just generic and spectacular nonsense; a one size fits all suggestion from someone who couldn't trust enough to really immerse themselves in another. Eventually, Rachel had figured it out. She realised that if it was long term, if it really was forever then there was nothing wrong with a joint identity or a future that was reimagined for both people. They didn't have to be so separate. In the years since then she often thought about who she wanted to be. And while having the name Rachel Barbra Berry screamed in awe was gratifying; more times Rachel found herself empty during the interviews where there was no mention of 'Rachel and Quinn' by a world that didn't know.
"I wish that I could have done it over. I would've told you, that in my mind at least; I had already chosen you over the New York skyline."
Finally, there's sound on the other end. Quinn takes a shaky breath, the kind that comes with clenched jaws and anything to stop from crying.
"Do-overs don't exist Rachel and – "
With the pause, Quinn pulls the phone away from her face. There's picture of the brunette next to the contact name. Rachel's face was scrunched up in indignation with amusement dancing in her eyes. Quinn fights off the memory as she speaks.
"—You're never going to be happy if you keep thinking about what-if."
"Do you ever think about it?"
Rachel asks. The question is loaded for many reasons. Quinn thinks about the person sleeping peacefully in her bed. The beautiful stranger at the time, who dragged her off a Central Park Bench to tell her not to worry, everything was a process, everything doesn't hurt forever. However, Quinn also thinks about the fact that in the dead of night she had left the warm cocoon of said person and was now hiding in the laundry room speaking as if her life depended on whispered tones. Actions speak louder than words and Quinn considers the damage in a lie. She runs her hands through her hair and shakes her head in slight frustration. In the end, she finds balance in an honest reply. She won't demean or belittle a relationship that carried the same amount joy as the devastation.
"Yes. But, I don't want to."
Quinn keeps her voice gentle but Rachel feels the rejection either way.
"It's not fair to the people that care about me and those that care about you."
Quinn explains. Her mind revisits the news and industry gossip that had placed Rachel with her long-time co-star. Quinn recalls staring at paparazzi pictures and deconstructing body language wondering if PR played a significant role. She could never come to a conclusion until there was one on the red carpet where he was off to the side staring at Rachel as she posed for individual photos. There was nothing but pride in his eyes and a love contained in an uncontrollable smile. In that moment, he had been looking at her and Rachel was anywhere else. It must have been a terrifying position to be in. So Quinn just repeats safer sentiments.
"Congratulations on the Oscar Rachel. It really was a fantastic movie."
"Yeah."
The agreement is slow. There's a lull in the conversation and Rachel takes the chance. She's so tired and there are still some points that need to be said out loud.
"I wanted to say goodbye Quinn. I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry and that if being your friend in high school was my greatest achievement then loving you was nothing short of a divine calling …"
"Rachel…"
An uneasy concern seeps into Quinn's voice. She can't help but flinch at the finality of the words. She thinks that she now understands what it must be like 'to feel something in one's bones.'
"I'm ok Quinn. Everything will stop spinning soon"
And then, there it was. Without the distractions of an overdue discussion Quinn hears it; the slurring in the singer's normally perfect enunciation.
"Rachel. How much have you had to drink?"
The question is more forceful this time as Quinn finds herself already on her feet and foreboding in her features.
"Enough."
The answer is soft but resolute. Quinn's controlled mask slips for the first time during the evening as she pleads.
"Rachel! Please. How much?"
"It's Hollywood Quinn. How much do you think?"
Rachel sighs and closes her eyes for a moment.
"Don't worry. The room will stop spinning soon. Then the feelings will stop."
"Rachel!"
Quinn has her jacket on and her keys in hand. She curses and her eyes a wide with fear as she makes a mad dash to her car, praying that old addresses like old phone numbers stayed the same, that on some level 'they' were still the same.
"Rachel!"
Propped up against the wall Rachel hangs up the phone. It won't be long now.
Rachel glares at her mantle. She doesn't throw cutlery, telephones or glass bottles, because, honestly – who would want to clean up that mess? No, instead she simply eyes the newest addition with its marble base, shiny metal and golden plaque that screams some kind of accomplishment. She scoffs; five-year-old Rachel Berry really didn't understand anything at all.
Rachel watches the minute hand traverse the watch face in the distance. At the fifteen-minute mark the haziness seeps in and reality starts to bend. At the thirty, nausea sweeps in and steady breathing is paramount. And sometime after that, stomach pains seem like the appropriate physiological afterthought.
Faintly, she'll hear insistent knocking and a familiar voice. There's comfort in the way the person half growls her name, equal parts commanding and exasperated. And whilst she's sprawled out on the floor, Rachel will wonder about the pain and desperation lacing the demands to please, just open the goddamn door.
It should be noted that Rachel tries. By whatever remnant of the person she used to be; she tries to move, if only so the voice would stop sounding so scared. Terror as it seemed, was one of the few emotions that destroyed that soft lilt and tempered tone. However, gravity is an incontestable villain, and in the current scene Rachel is a disgraced knight. The room moves again. There's swearing, a crash and a broken in door as gold swims into her field of vision.
Elegant hands explore her body searching for injury. They'll find none save for the fading smile on her face, glassiness in her eyes, and the persistent question on her lips.
In a barely there voice, Rachel will ask.
"Am I broken enough now?"
The protective hold on her tightens and a pained response is choked out.
"Yeah Rachel. You are…"
In the middle of a New York penthouse living room Quinn whispers into a matted forehead.
"You're broken enough."
The sirens come.