Disclaimer: Characters of 'Glee' do not belong to me and are the property of Ryan Murphy, Fox, and some other people who aren't me. Sadface.
A/N: Fluff. Total Faberry fluff, that really kind of came from nowhere. It's been sitting on my hard drive unfinished for a few months (as you might guess by the quick reference to Christmas), so if it feels disjointed at all I'm inclined to blame it on that. ;) Takes place somewhere early in season 3. Post Punk-Quinn, but not too far after. As always your comments are so much more than welcomed; adored, lusted after, my reason for breathing. ;)
She'd been going about it the wrong way. She knew that now. In her defense though, it wasn't as if there was a manual for this sort of thing that she could have just checked out from the library to peruse at her leisure. Rachel Berry was a conundrum that no text book could give her answers to, so Quinn was forced to improvise.
Granted, her first attempt may have been a tad on the aggressive side, but in times of doubt it was her autopilot setting to fall back on old habits. And it wasn't as if she'd actually cornered her or anything. They'd been in a semi open setting; the hallway, at Rachel's locker to be precise. It hadn't started well. When the shorter girl had slammed her locker shut and had Quinn all but materialize right beside her, she'd released the same kind of noise a trapped rabbit might have upon realising the fox had found it.
"Quinn." Her tone had been surprised and not pleasantly so, though it hadn't been outright unpleasant either. Mostly just warily curious. "Is there something I can do for you?" And Quinn smiled, dropping a shoulder to lean against the wall of lockers.
"Tell me that you don't have plans on Friday." It was supposed to be just that simple. It had been that simple with Finn. It had been even easier with Puck. But Rachel's forehead had just creased in confusion.
"I'm sorry?" With a lick of her lips and a steady intake of breath, Quinn had stepped forward. Right into the brunette's personal space. And for one split second, Rachel had looked positively terrified.
"Friday night. Seven o'clock. Wear something casual. I was thinking maybe a movie and then Breadstix?" The morning before her proposal, she'd spent a good long while staring at her reflection in the mirror and it was because of that that she was fairly certain a second head hadn't grown in during the night. So she had no idea why Rachel was looking at her as if one had.
"Are…." The brunette had paused to swallow and let her eyes sweep both ends of the empty hallway. "Are you asking me out? On a date?" She'd sounded incredulous and Quinn had laughed, though that probably hadn't been the ideal reaction.
"Can I take that as a yes?" She hadn't meant to dance around Rachel's question; she just hadn't seen it as one that needed answering, figuring her intentions were fairly well laid out. Then something had happened that had made Quinn question everything her 'dating' experience up until now had taught her. Rachel's brow smoothed out and her jawline became set, her eyes fixed on Quinn in a manner that the blonde was all too familiar with.
"I don't know what kind of game this is Quinn, but that you think I might fall for something as devious as this is an offence to my intelligence." The blonde's face had slackened a little with the shock of the words because, really, it should have been just that easy. Rachel had adjusted the books in her hands and shook her head. "Even you have to admit that this is a new height of deceitfulness." And then she'd looked hurt and Quinn couldn't find words fast enough to try and fix whatever it was that had gone wrong. "What exactly was your plan? Was it simply just to have me accept and be fodder for you and your friends' humour? Or was it public humiliation? How dare you, Quinn." She'd taken a step back, swallowing against a rising lump in her throat, and Quinn had wanted to reach out but found her limbs frozen. "I thought we were becoming friends." She watched as the brunette clenched her jaw. "And somehow I thought you wouldn't use that against me." And turning on her heel, Rachel had left.
And Quinn had stood in the hallway for a long few minutes, unable to move or even form coherent thoughts. Her brain had just sputtered and fizzled to a stop because, seriously, what the hell had just happened?
She'd been doing better. After her trip to Rebel Town had ended, thanks in large part to the Queen of storm-outs herself, and Shelby had started allowing her to see Beth - Puck as well - she had just kind of settled as of late. For once in her life things were finally okay. She wasn't being consumed by some badly thought out scheme or plotting revenge on the Glee club from the inside. Life had been tough for a while there and she'd grown so bitter that she could hardly stand herself, but slowly life had started to right itself. And she'd noticed, albeit a little begrudgingly at first, that more often than not Rachel had been there, tilting the axis of her world to help level everything out. And for what? Her behaviour towards the diva had been nothing short of appalling. She'd tossed barbs sharper than razorblades in her direction at every available opportunity, had posted truly deplorable things on Rachel's MySpace page, and had been behind many a slushie. That her hand had never been the one throwing it was of little consequence. She'd been a bitch. She'd made Rachel's life a living hell and all the other girl had done in retaliation was try and befriend her. It didn't make sense, any of it; Quinn's instantaneous need to attack nor Rachel's response, and had the matter never somehow been broached in one of her therapy sessions, she'd have gone on quite happily never analysing any of it.
But Quinn had said something her therapist had evidentially found interesting and the woman had grabbed hold like a rabid dog, refusing to let go because she was adamant that there was something underlying that Quinn wasn't allowing herself to unearth. And so it was over the course of a few sessions, each an hour long and costing her mother more than she cared to talk about, that they picked apart Quinn's inner most thoughts, addressing and then pushing aside certain threads until one entirely perplexing - and yet completely understandable - strand remained, unencumbered by the rest. She liked Rachel. Which at first had been laughable to her, and she'd done just that, loud and somewhat obnoxiously. Her therapist had just given her that shit-eating grin that said in no uncertain terms "it's cute that you think you know more than me, but trust me on this". It had taken a little time. The pink dye had completely washed out and her baby doll dresses had gone back into her closet a while ago by the time she sat down in the plush leather armchair, absently chewing on her lower lip and mumbling something that had her therapist raising her eyebrows.
"Muttering is only a half relief, Quinn." She had huffed and rolled her eyes, reluctantly speaking more clearly.
"I said... I think you were right." The older woman had waved her hand in a gesture for Quinn to elaborate because, really, that could have meant anything and Quinn had leaned forward, jabbing her fingertips against her temples. "About Rachel." Her therapist had mouthed a wordless 'ah' and then smiled. And Quinn had had to use every ounce of restraint to hold down the ire that threatened to erupt. She didn't enjoy being wrong about things, even less when she had someone telling her the right answer. Practically rubbing it in her face. And, okay, that was definitely something they'd talked about.
"And what has brought you to this conclusion?" She'd been asked and Quinn had deflated entirely, slumping back into the chair.
"Painful reflection." She'd admitted, earning raised eyebrows in the process. "It- It's just like you said; school yard mentality. I was the annoying boy pulling the little girl's pigtails just to get her attention, only my version of taunting was far worse." Rubbing at her eyes, Quinn had heaved a sigh and shook her head at herself. "I just can't believe I was dumb enough to reduce myself to that, you know?" The therapist made a noncommittal noise and shifted in her seat, tapping the end of her pen against the pad of paper that was resting on her knee.
"It's not about being 'dumb', Quinn. It's simply a matter of your brain not registering something or finding a way to defend you against something it feels you aren't yet ready to face."
"Maybe." And she hadn't sounded convinced.
"And what about now? Do you feel as if you're more readily able to deal with this?"
The answer had come as a surprise to her. Maybe it was because the last two years had been so shitty; it made everything good shine that much more brightly. Her life so far had pretty much sucked and most of it had been her own fault, her parents divorcing notwithstanding. But she figured that had actually been the only good thing to come out of that particular mess. Except Beth. But Beth, well she was an entirely different thing all together. The bottom line was that right now, her life was good and she wanted it to stay that way. She was tired of surrounding herself with things that was so obviously bad for her. She was tired of being blind to everything.
And so after a few more sessions where she`d talked through what exactly it was she felt for Rachel, and what that meant, she came to the conclusion that she liked Rachel. Like liked her. And along with the particular thought came the knowledge that she would perhaps never be able to escape the school yard mentality. The thought of what her parents, or the more obvious singular, might say wasn't one that was front and foremost in her mind, largely due to the fact that once you came home pregnant there was little else you could do that would come as a larger shock. So she made a decision. While the Quinn who was a bitch just for the satisfaction of seeing people miserable was gone, that didn't mean all of her drive and determination had to go along with her. She was still going to use it to her advantage, only this time it would be for good. For Rachel. The only constant she'd had in a long time. And that had to mean something, didn't it? That Rachel was in a constant state of trying to reach out. Or, okay, steal her boyfriend, but everyone was entitled to a mistake and that was one that had been recently rectified. Apparently the split between Rachel and Finn had been amicable, though Finn could still be spotted pouting like someone had just kicked his dog. Rachel felt something for her or she wouldn't have bothered. Nobody else had, not to those lengths. And after she'd found the keys to certain shackles and set herself free, there wasn't anything that was going to stop her from getting what she wanted. Truly wanted. Now all she needed to do was woo Rachel Berry.
And while she had never been under the delusion that it was going to be a cake walk given their history, she had honestly thought it was going to be a hell of a lot easier than it turned out.
'Slightly Aggressive Quinn' hadn't worked which, upon reflection, it had been pretty obvious that she wouldn't. That was the kind of thing Rachel had a habit of holding her head high and turning away from. She'd hoped 'Plan B' would be something that would at least grab the brunette's attention, because she'd avoided Quinn like a throat infection ever since the locker incident. Even in Glee Quinn hadn't been able to make even the briefest of eye contact and, not wanting air her laundry out where everyone could see it, she hadn't pressed for any kind of verbal interaction. And so she had landed at the foot of 'Plan B' - 'Coy Quinn' - where no spoken words were needed.
The first note she slipped into Rachel's locker was a request to meet where she and The Skanks had frequented, kind of as a throwback,but whether or not it was fear of another potentially tumultuous run in with the shady group or a complete lack of wanting to be anywhere near Quinn that kept her away, Rachel didn't show. But the former captain of the Cheerios wasn't known for easily backing down and so the second note, slid through the vents in the other girl's locker while surreptitiously traversing the hallways under the guise of taking a washroom break from glee club, didn't ask for a single thing. It simply read; "You're extra pretty when you sing. -Q". And that, to her immense yet completely internal delight, had gotten her a two and a half second glance of something that lay somewhere between confusion and intrigue. However the ball still remained alone and unmoving on Rachel's side of the court. The final note she sent she had never actually intended to be the last, but Santana had caught her at the diva's locker.
"What are you doing?" And Quinn had just about jumped out of her skin. She spun, fingers suddenly burning with a high temperature that had rapidly spread to even the furthest corners of her body as they came away from the metal, and found the Latina standing less than five feet away, arms folded across her Cheerios shirt.
"Nothing." She'd protested and by the way Santana raised her eyebrows she knew her response had come far too quickly. Guiltily so.
"Right. And I'm The Virgin Mary." Quinn had kind of half snorted at that mental image. She didn't peg Brittany as the carpenter type. "Why are you posting notes through the elf's locker?" Santana cocked a hip, regarding the blonde with a wry expression. "You do know that's not how to get your letters to Santa, right?"
"Santana, get lost." It was about as weak a barb Quinn had ever thrown and the other girl knew it. Knew that it was only something big that could throw who she liked to refer to as the 'Former Head Bitch in Charge' off her game.
"Good god, you're not pregnant again are you?" The glare Quinn had sent her way had not been one meant to entice laughter but it somehow managed to have that effect. "Okay. Fine. Are you planting something in there? Because I can get you shit that will look way worse than a note-" At that, Quinn had pushed away from the wall of lockers and held up a hand.
"Santana please, this really isn't anything to do with you." It was the wrong thing to say, because Santana was an animal of opportunity and it was blatantly obvious from that statement that Quinn wanted to be as far away from this conversation as possible. And while it may not have been any of the cheerleader's business, Quinn's tone completely gave away the fact that there was definitely something there to sink her teeth into. More than she'd first anticipated. With a knowing tilt of her head, Santana fell into stride right alongside the blonde.
"Is this seriously about Finn again? Because there is only so much the Glee club as a whole can take before we smash our faces in with Kurt`s bedazzled microphones." Quinn had rolled her eyes and just shook her head, not quite trusting herself enough yet to speak. "Thank god." In her periphery, she'd watched Santana glance askance at her, not at all enjoying the look on her face. "If it's not about Finn and it's not some devious plot to end the career that Rachel will inevitably end up rubbing in our faces, then what possible reason could there be for you covertly slipping notes into her locker?" And a chill ran through Quinn. Because the fact that Santana knew or was, at the very least, on the cusp for figuring out what she had just stumbled upon was basically palpable at that second. And Quinn didn't think she was ready for that just yet. She'd stopped unexpectedly and spun to face the other girl.
"Stop." And gone was any hint of Quinn playing along. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to run off back to Brittany or whoever is fielding this shift of keeping you warm between the legs, and you're going to forget that you saw me here doing whatever the hell you think I was doing. Got it?" Santana's face had shifted from expressionless to a mask of unabashed rage and then down to mildly pissed off in the space of about two seconds and Quinn's heart had beaten about a thousand times more than it was required to.
"You know Quinn," she'd started, crossing her arms once more and leaning in closer to the blonde. "For a second there I thought Berry might have made you soft. It's good to know that even the pathetically love-struck version of you still has balls." And with that, Santana had left; taking all of Quinn's air with her. It was only sheer luck that stopped the blonde from passing out in the middle of the hallway and, after a few long minutes during which she was sure the only reason she stayed alive was because she was numbly willing herself to, she eventually made her way out of the school. Barely feeling the chill of the bitterly cold wind.
Yes. The confrontation with Santana had sent a shock wave through her large enough to level Canada, but when the next school day came and went without her being publicly branded ''The Lesbian Formerly Known as Quinn Fabray', her panic eased a little. Why she wasn't being tormented yet was beyond her, but she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. It might bite her head off just to spite her. Still, she ceased with the notes. Risking another mishap like that wasn't in the cards for her and she decided she needed to try a different, less direct tactic.
"Do you have Rachel's number?" Puck, who kind of looked like a mohawked hamster with about five meatballs stuffed into the side of his mouth, had stared at her from across the lunch room table as though she'd just asked him to explain to her what exactly the Large Hadron Collider's purpose was.
"What do you want that for?" He'd asked mid chew, eyes narrowing in scepticism she was hardly surprised by.
"To text her." She'd replied, tone similar to that of someone speaking to a simpleton. He took his time chewing and swallowing, and then shoved another sauce-covered ball of meat into his mouth.
"If you're planning on harassing her, you'll have to get it from someone else. Us hot Jews gotta stick together." And he had somehow managed to sound very determined as he'd emphatically stated his answer around a mouthful of meat. Or a meat-like substance.
"I just want to text her, you pig." He'd grinned at her, mouth full of chewed food, and she'd swatted at his arm. Jerking away, he laid his fork atop his plate and reached into his pocket, fishing out his cell phone.
"Okay, fine. But if I hear one word about how Rachel's been getting weird anonymous texts talking about her moustache, I'll know whose ass I'll need to kick." She'd rolled her eyes at him and reached inside her handbag for her own phone, sliding the front panel up and navigating to the address book.
"You don't hit girls." She'd pointed out and he'd paused in his scrolling through names to acknowledge that.
"Then I'll get Santana to do it." Quinn had laughed at that, the slight nervous edge to it - brought about by the mention of the Cheerio's name - going unnoticed by him. He'd tossed the phone down in front of her and she'd lifted it to find Rachel Berry's number staring at her. Big black numbers daring her to add them to her address book. So she did. And Puck was still eyeing her suspiciously when she'd slid the phone back over to him.
"Santana is too busy taking every available opportunity to make out with Brittany in janitors' closets and empty classrooms these days. She's not likely to cut into that time just because her ex wants her to throw a punch at someone." For a few beats he'd appeared contemplative, or as contemplative as Puck could look, and then a stupid grin slowly broke out across his face.
"You think they'll be in one right now?" And she knew that look well enough to just shake her head at it and walk away.
It had taken her a little while to actually work up enough courage to send that first text. To Rachel. Rachel Berry. If Quinn thought about it too long, she actually felt the Earth begin to shake beneath her with the threat of a foreboding implosion. She was, for lack of a better word, pining over the same girl she hadn't been able to stand at the beginning of glee. It all made just the right amount of sense and nonsense to make her head hurt, and so when her fingers danced over the keys on her phone, she tried to think as little as possible.
Hey.
She'd decided short and sweet was probably the best way to start things off. After a minute or so, her phone had chimed loudly to signal a new message and she'd rolled her eyes at herself when she'd noticed how her hands were shaking. This was all so silly.
Hello. I don't appear to have this number saved to my address book. May I ask who this is?
Rachel was wordy even through text messages and Quinn hadn't really expected anything different. With a wry smile, she'd briefly wondered how the brunette would deal with Twitter's one hundred and forty character limit.
Who do you want me to be?
There had been a long pause between messages after that and with her heart thudding a little louder than usual in her chest; Quinn had wondered whether or not she'd already pushed it too far. But then her phone had chimed again and she'd selected the little envelope icon only to almost drop her phone in shock.
Quinn?
And okay, so Rachel hadn't really been answering Quinn's question, but still. It made her stomach roll, in a good way. She hadn't been sure what to do from there though and Rachel's text had gone unanswered for a little while.
Busted. Maybe 'Cute Quinn' was the way to go. What gave me away?
She'd pressed the keys on her phone with one hand, the of tip of the thumb of the other snared between her teeth, adding pressure as she waited for a response.
Yours and Santana's are the only numbers I don't currently have in my phone's address book. I figured you as the more likely of the two. Especially since you didn't greet me with an insult.
That had made Quinn smile.
Sorry. Santana's uncontrollable. Britt's always been the only person who can rein her in.
It had been nice, the almost conversational tone of the first few messages.
I apologise for being so abrupt, but what do you want, Quinn?
And then her stomach had sunk right through her bed, both floors of her house and had come to rest in the dirt of the foundations. But she could work around the question.
To talk.
About something specific?
Not really.
Quinn, I really don't want to participate in this kind of game. I have to be up early for my elliptical workout and if I'm asleep any later than 10pm my entire daily schedule is thrown off.
Quinn's mouth had quirked into a grin as her thumbs danced across the keys.
So without your 8 hours you're a bear in the morning. Okay, my turn. I'm a chronic insomniac and can function pretty well on two hours of sleep.
Quinn's phone had gone silent and as she watched the seconds tick by, eyes fixed on the numberless clock on her wall, she'd become increasingly worried that she wasn't going to get a reply.
Please stop this. Whatever you're attempting to do, it's not worth the effort. Goodnight, Quinn.
How can I convince you that this isn't a game, Rachel? All I'm asking for is one date.
Forgive me for being suspicious Quinn, but in the entire span of time that I've known you I can count on one hand the amount of times you've been nice to me. Why don't I believe you? Because you've given me every reason not to. The idea that I would simply ignore my better judgement and accept your invitation of courtship is absurd and quite frankly insulting.
And despite being textually berated by the person she was trying to, for lack of a better term, 'woo', Quinn managed to find a silver lining.
Does that mean that the part of you not governed by your better judgement is telling you to accept?
Goodnight Quinn.
It hadn't been any kind of victory at all really, but Quinn had still flopped backwards onto her bed with a smile on her face.
After that, there had been a number of attempted - friendly - ambushes by 'Determined Quinn', all of which Rachel had managed to dodge and one had seen Jacob Ben Israel fall to the floor clutching his crotch after he got in her way. 'Aloof Quinn' had basically tried to act just that and she all but ignored Rachel for as long as possible, which turned out to be about two and a half days. 'Pouting Quinn' had gotten her thrown looks of concern and an insanely hopeful hesitant dawdle after glee club one afternoon, but as soon as Quinn had made a move towards the other girl, Rachel had darted. It was enough to drive any sane person to drink, but as much as Quinn's therapist would have probably loved delving into that, she remained sober and instead became so sullen and crestfallen that Finn - lovably oafish but utterly oblivious Finn - had asked her if there was anything wrong. She'd brushed it off, not knowing or wanting to know how that conversation would even begin, and disappeared into the girls' bathroom before he could say anything else.
And that's when Santana had caught up with her again. Quinn's stomach had churned somewhat violently when her gaze found the brunette, red and white clad frame leaning against the sink and eyes fixed on the nails she'd been filing.
"Forget your meth, Chunky Brewster?" Santana hadn't even looked up at her. Quinn flexed her fingers and, with a somewhat practised ease, let the question roll off her to spin and rattle to a stop somewhere in the shadows behind her.
"Keeping your talons short on Britt's orders? How considerate." That had gotten her a glare that Quinn wasn't about to back down from, but their staring contest was broken by the sound of a toilet flushing.
"Someone say my name?" At the appearance of the blonde cheerleader she'd mentioned mere moments earlier, Quinn had felt guilt trickle through her. She didn't like using Brittany to get to Santana, especially if the girl was within earshot; the fact that it was really the only thing that got under the brunette's skin didn't cheapen the act any less. Quinn had felt any and all annoyance and bad attitude leave her as the dancer smiled at her on her way to the sinks. "Hey Q." She'd stood next to Santana, washing her hands and looking at Quinn's reflection in the mirror. "You look hot today." And that had gotten a smile from Quinn.
"You too, Britt." The taller girl had grinned to show teeth and turned to lean against the sink, close enough for her arm to brush against Santana's.
"I always look hot." Quinn had made a noncommittal noise of affirmation and, with a passing sweep of her eyes over Santana, she'd moved towards the stalls. "So are you are Rachel like, boning yet?" And had almost walked face-first into one of the doors as she balked, stopping short at the question.
"What the hell are you talking about?" She'd spat, with too much venom to be convincing, and snapped back to face Brittany who had shifted to mimic Santana's position. The brunette had given her a look of warning that basically told her 'keep talking to her like that and I'll rip your tongue out of your mouth' and she'd found her voice inwardly telling her to calm the fuck down because it was Brittany. Who, she was fairly certain, had a total of one malicious bone in her body and it only got used when Santana tugged on it just right. For a moment, Brittany's smile faded and she looked confused.
"Well you're totally into her and when I'm into someone, I have sex with them." Blue eyes had darted to the side on which Santana was standing. "Or, I used to. Now I only have sex with her because she's like the only person I want to have sex with, but that's what love is I guess?" And while she'd still sounded confused, Brittany had started to smile again. "Only wanting to have sex with one person. And I don't know if you love Rachel or anything, but you like her right? So you should definitely have sex with her. I totally would if, you know-" She'd inclined her head towards the brunette, but Quinn had held a hand up to stop whatever she was going to say next.
"Can you please stop saying 'sex' for like, a second?" Pinching the bridge of her nose between a thumb and forefinger, Quinn had closed her eyes and wished for everything to stop. Just for a minute, so she could catch her breath. "I'm not," she'd paused to grimace at the word she was about to use, "boning anyone, okay?" Probably not ever again. She had shot a glare in Santana's direction hot enough to melt steel. "What the hell did you tell her?" The brunette had laughed.
"You know, the funny thing is," she'd drawled dangerously, "I never had to say a single thing." And she'd looked so happy about that, as if this whole thing had literally made her year.
"Of course you did." Quinn had said scathingly, her death glare only leaving Santana when Brittany straightened beside her.
"I'm not stupid." The blonde had announced with a frown so deep it looked foreign on her, like it didn't belong at all. Quinn had opened her mouth to agree, but Brittany didn't let her. "People think I'm dumb because I'm not good at Math and I don't know what the capital of like, England is. They just remember the time I tried to give a frog mouth to mouth in biology and think that I don't see things like other people." She'd folded her arms across her chest and all but stared Quinn down. "Well, I don't. I see different things, more important stuff. Nobody has to tell me about those things because I pay attention when other people don't." Quinn had stood quietly and watched as Santana reached forward and wound an arm around Brittany's hips, pulling her back and into her.
"S'okay, B. Quinn's just pissed that she's gone and gotten herself bitten by the love bug and doesn't have a high enough level of control to keep that shit from writing itself all over her face." And the brunette's voice was as stern as her scowl, unwavering as it pinned Quinn to the linoleum of the floor. "She didn't mean it like that." Quinn had swallowed the majority of her venom, feeling more than a little ashamed, but Santana definitely new how to tease her claws out.
"I didn't. I'm sorry, Britt. I just..." She'd trailed off, swallowing again as the brunette pressed her cheek against the taller girl's bare shoulder and tightened her hold.
"You're sad because you want sweet lady kisses of your own and you think Rachel doesn't want to give them to you." Brittany had finished for her with a shrug of nonchalance. Quinn's eyes had gone wide and she felt her heart seize for a moment. Santana could ruin her with this and while Brittany would never think to use it against her, she'd end up going along with her girlfriend unwittingly. But as she'd looked at them, the entire length of their bodies touching in a stance that looked both intimate and infinitely comfortable, she'd realised that she didn't have a whole lot of options. And if she couldn't talk to two lesbian cheerleaders, who the hell else was she going to talk to?
"Right." Her admission had been quiet and breathy, and perhaps most importantly of all; a first. She couldn't recall another time she'd actually admitted to wanting Rachel that way out loud.
"You know you're like totally way off right?" Brittany had asked with a short laugh that made it seem as though Quinn most definitely should know that. The dancer had glanced over her shoulder. "Do you have my jelly beans?" Santana had hummed aloud and shook her head against Brittany's arm.
"They're in my locker. You didn't want the Jelly Bean Gnomes to steal them." The blonde's face had brightened with recognition.
"Oh yeah."
"What do you mean I'm 'way off'?" Quinn had interjected, seeming not to hear the mini Sherlock investigation going on.
"Oh god, can we not have you have a significant revelation in the girls' bathroom? It's like a pathetic high school version of Ally McBeal." But Quinn had ignored her, focusing her attention on Brittany who had honestly seemed bored by the whole thing. It was all just that obvious to her; it had become old news a long time ago.
"Rachel's been into you since the beginning of time." She'd stated, using the same tone she would have to describe what she had for breakfast that morning, but her words caused Quinn's palms to instantly start sweating regardless. "I mean, I know there was the whole Finn thing. Which I kind of get because he's like goofball cute, but he's kinda dumb." Behind her, Santana had smiled. The kind of smile that reminded Quinn that the brunette was actually human. "But I think she just got her obsessions crossed for a while there. And then Jesse was like this total distraction with awesome hair, but that didn't go anywhere and she still looks at you when she thinks no one's looking so..." And then Brittany had shrugged, letting the sentence trail off.
"Has she- did she say something to you?" Quinn's words had stumbled out of her mouth after a moment of silence and Brittany had rolled her bright blue eyes.
"No. She didn't need to. Didn't we just talk about this?" Brittany had frowned, starting to look a little annoyed and Quinn had sighed.
"No but, I mean..." She'd stalled, worrying her lower lip as she thought about what it was she actually wanted to say. "Why hasn't she just said yes then?" She'd shifted from foot to foot a little awkwardly, feeling vulnerable speaking so openly about it. "I've asked her out like a million times and she keeps shooting me down." Brittany had laughed, before patting Santana's hand and pulling away from her.
"You're doing it wrong then." She'd said, reaching forwards with outstretched arms and running her hands over Quinn's short hair before dropping them to rest on her shoulders. "It's Rachel. She's not just going to jump into bed with you because you slipped a note into her locker." Quinn shot Santana a look but was too busy struggling to keep her blush down to call her on that little detail.
"She thinks I'm trying to, I don't know, convince her to go out with me so I can dump a bucket of pig's blood all over her or something." Brittany had crinkled her nose at the visual. "And she barely even looks at me now. I've been trying to corner her for day's but-"
"Good God, you're as dense as cement, Q." Santana had said with a bark of laughter. "You really think Rachel's going to agree to date you if you go around skulking in shadows and empty corridors, asking her when there's no one around? It looks suspicious. And let's face it; she's got plenty of reason not to trust you." The words had stung, mostly because Quinn knew they were true.
"What does she expect me to do? Get down on bended knee in front of everyone?" Santana had shrugged, because although she'd been secretive in her own way - and still was - she'd done what it took to get her girl.
"Pretty much. Rachel's a whore for theatricality. You need to prove that you mean it. You need to make her believe you. And you need to figure out if you want her bad enough to do what that takes." The words had settled low in the pit of Quinn's stomach, gnawing at her insides. Santana was right. Even if she'd been the last person Quinn had expected to help her with this, she couldn't deny that. Their friendship was complex, it always had been, but on occasion they did good things for one another and it was those things that kept them tied together. Even if the thread did fray from time to time.
And so, she'd been dropped head first at the realisation that she'd been going about this all wrong. She knew that now. The rest of the school week had passed as somewhat of a blur, with Quinn keeping a controlled distance from Rachel and only allowing herself quick glances at the brunette from her periphery. It was kind of pathetic how difficult she'd found it to stay her attempts to communicate with the other girl, but she'd managed. And had even caught a few curious looks being directed her way that almost made the torture worthwhile. Then, on Friday evening, she set to work. Scouring her iTunes library for something that spoke the correct words to her took a few hours and two entire sides of A4 paper, and when she finally clicked on the song felt kind of ridiculous that it hadn't been her instant go to at the start. She clicked it into a playlist she'd just created, aptly named 'Rachel', and connected her iPod to her computer, mulling over just what exactly she was going to do the next day as it did its thing. This was it. It was pretty much all or nothing from this point on, but after everything that had happened over the last few years she'd given a new meaning to the word 'fear' and now she wouldn't put that word to what she was feeling. Because this, she was sure about. There was only one way this could end in her mind. And while 'cute Quinn' and 'determined Quinn' and 'slightly aggressive Quinn' were all there, mingling beneath the surface and ready to voice their own individual opinions on how she should approach the situation, she'd realised what Rachel would respond best to. Had always responded best to. And it was both funny and a little tragic that it had taken her this long to piece that together. 'Just Quinn' would be leaving her house tomorrow, with a mission and a motive, and she planned on proving to Rachel just how unequivocally serious she was.
She'd only ever been to the Berry household once before; on the night of the ill-conceived party that had led to drunken karaoke renditions and a torrent of emotional outbursts, but she remembered it well enough. Quinn stood outside, looking up as it loomed over her and she knew it only appeared ominous because her brain was making it so. She knew that behind those walls lived a loving family, not some three headed monster lurking in the shadows waiting to devour her. Still, it was with a shaky breath that she ascended the curb and entered the front yard through the waist high gate, and it was a heavy and hopefully calming breath that left her as she edged out onto the usually finely manicured lawn that was now covered in a fine blanket of snow. She situated herself below what she hoped she'd remembered correctly as being Rachel's window, standing back far enough to be in full line of sight, and set her carry-along down beside her. She was nervous, oddly terrified actually, but her resolve was said and there was usually little that could be done to sway it.
Rachel would be awake by now; her elliptical calling her forth from slumber at an ungodly hour on a weekend, and Quinn hoped she'd still be within the confines of her room. Then again, she hoped that Mr and Mr Berry would be out, but she doubted that specific prayer was going to be answered. And no, she wasn't a stalker, but for some unascertained reason Rachel's morning routine had become public knowledge a long time ago. Quinn had just stored the information away for a rainy day. Or a snowy one, as it was.
Her boots crunched against the snow as she moved, bending down and trying to keep the hem of her skirt from lying in it. Her outfit wasn't ideal. A skirt that had definitely seen warmer days hung a little below her bare knee and a too-thin t-shirt that had actually come from a Christian concert she'd attended a few years ago had been the first thing she'd grabbed out of her closet, but she'd been far too close to chickening out to stop and look for alternatives. So she'd thrown on a heavy mustard-yellow jacket that rested somewhere around mid-calf, pulled a knitted pink and white toque onto her head and left with very little regard to her colour coordination, or lack thereof. Quinn needed to do this now, while Santana's words were still making sense and her heart wasn't trying to suffocate her by stuffing itself up through her windpipe. And so, with a shaky breath that was clearly visible in the crisp morning air, Quinn hit the power button, waited the expected number of heartbeats, and then cranked the volume and hit play.
The jaunty opening beats of Barbra Streisand's 'Don't Rain on My Parade' exploded from the speakers, shattering the quiet and jarring a few birds from a nearby tree. Quinn's teeth tugged at her lower lip as she stood, rigid and tense, and stared up at the window above her. Every instinct she had was telling her to run, screaming it at her, because when faced with something Quinn couldn't possibly know the outcome of her autopilot shifted to 'flee' and old habits were hard to kill. But before her gears could shift, there was a blur of motion in the window above her and Quinn's breath caught painfully in her throat.
Rachel's form appeared, a hazy shadow against the glass, and then the bleary-eyed sun caught her and draped her in its still warming rays. She looked not unlike an angel standing there in the pale light, almost glowing, and Quinn had to force the thought away lest she let it steal any remaining words from her. Rachel reached for the lever that would unlock the window and Quinn had to swallow, hard, and fight the now almost overwhelming urge to bolt.
"Quinn!" And then fight the urge to smile at the fact that she could barely hear Rachel's exasperation over Barbara's singing. Dark eyebrows drawn into a tight frown, the brunette leaned out of the window and cast a look down towards Quinn that made her feel as crazy as she undoubtedly seemed. "What are you doing? Do you have any idea what time it is?" And even being screamed at, Quinn's smile wormed its way free. It curved against her lips, flourishing across her face like the sun bathing the ground around her.
"I'm here to woo you!" Quinn called back, beaming at the way Rachel was gawking at her with incredulity. She could make out her sputtering for a moment, lips working but any words that might be leaving them unheard over the thumping beat. Something caught Rachel's attention then, pulling her gaze away from Quinn and toward something behind her. Quinn glanced over her shoulder and found she was unable to contain the laugh that bubbled up upon seeing one of Rachel's neighbours out on his front porch, nursing a steaming mug of what was probably coffee in his hand as he glared across the road at them. "Good morning, Mister Nielson!" Quinn turned back in time to see Rachel offer the crotchety-looking old man a half-hearted wave and something between a grimace and a smile. "I'm very sorry about this! I can assure you I am not a willing participant in this reprehensibly noisy event!" Quinn was fairly certain there was no way that the man could hear Rachel, but knew it would be pointless telling her that and so she waited for the brunette's attention – or, she supposed, ire – to refocus itself on her. "Quinn Fabray! Cease and desist this instant!" Chuckling again, Quinn raised an eyebrow up towards the girl hanging out of the window.
"Did you just call Barbara 'noise'?" Rachel looked appalled by the revelation, but the reactions flickering across her face clearly betrayed the inner struggle that was currently being waged between her emotions. She appeared stricken, and Quinn felt a tiny thread of guilt trickle through her at the notion. The last thing she wanted to do was cause Rachel more pain, but this was literally the last of her options in her quest to make the other girl happy. Kind of ironic, really.
"I said no such thing!" Rachel shouted, eyes flaring dangerously. "Can't you at least turn it down?" Smirking, Quinn shook her head.
"Not until you agree to go out with me!" Flushing scarlet, Rachel levelled Quinn with a gaze hot enough to burn the sun and the blonde could see the knuckles on her small hand turning white where they gripped the handle of the window. Guilt roiled against the pit of her stomach again as Quinn watched the emotions dance about Rachel's features, the most keenly noticed being betrayal.
"Why are you doing this?" She yelled, dark hair swaying as she shook her head. "What are you hoping to accomplish?" Frustration exploding from her, Quinn threw her hands up in the air and then tilted her head back, letting out a noise that lingered somewhere between a groan and a scream.
"I just want to go on a date with you!" Behind Quinn, Mister Nielson raised his eyebrows and then turned on a heel, shaking his head as he retreated back into the sanity of his house. "One date! That's all I'm asking for!" She let her head loll forward again and, after a momentary lapse in her outwardly brave exterior that she spent worrying her lower lip, Quinn lifted her gaze once more and shot Rachel a smile that was as pure and sweet as it was determined. "And I'm not moving from your lawn until you say yes."
The final notes of the song faded away into the familiar hum of static a person couldn't quite decide whether or not they could actually hear as they looked at one another. Quinn absently toeing the snow beneath her boot, kicking it into a small pile as she refused to be the one to look away. Rachel opened her mouth to say something only to be interrupted by the repeat finally kicking in and the song started over, blaring loudly from the speakers once more. At that, the pintsized diva let out an enraged wail that Quinn was surprised to see somehow managed to avoid shattering the window, especially when it was coupled with the violent yank Rachel gave it to pull it closed.
Quinn's heart sank like a lead weight, landing between her feet in the freezing snow. That was it, the last ace up her sleeve, her last shot, and it had sailed too far left of her mark. There was literally nothing else she could do short of proposing, but she wasn't entirely sure she was ready for that, and after a moment of staring blankly up at the now vacant window, Quinn bent to pick up the portable CD player. Her stubborn front was just that and she'd leave if Rachel was so violently against her presence. Thumb jabbing the 'stop' button, the raucous music ceased and her heavy sigh was the only thing that filled the abrupt silence. If she were being honest with herself, something she had been both striving to do and avoiding, Quinn wasn't surprised by Rachel's reactions to everything she'd done thus far. Why should she believe that Quinn's good intentions did not hide some sinister ulterior motive as they had in the past? She'd so royally screwed herself over, in so many ways, and it didn't seem to matter that she was desperately trying to make amends; the universe seemed determined to deliver a karmic bitch-slap to her at every turn. Maybe she'd get used to it. Maybe she'd lock herself in her room for the next ten years. Staring at the footprints she'd left in the snow blanketing the lawn, Quinn sighed and made her way across it toward the path that would take her out of Rachel's front yard. The sound of a door opening had the same effect concrete shoes might and she suddenly found herself rooted to the spot and unable to move.
"Oh. You're leaving." Rachel's voice held an element of surprise and it caused Quinn to furrow her brow. Turning slowly, she found the brunette bundled in a thick red coat she'd tossed on over her workout clothes, arms folded across her chest to stave off the chill of the morning.
"I didn't feel like there was any reason for me to stay." Shifting a little, Rachel ducked her head and looked down at the boots she'd slipped on, hair falling to curtain her face.
"I didn't anticipate that you would give up quite so easily." Quinn bristled, blinking in rapid succession as she gazed at Rachel. She wouldn't go as far as to say that it had been a long time since she'd found herself annoyed by the other girl; just because she was crushing on her hard, that didn't mean she was impervious to being slightly perturbed by Rachel's eccentricities. Granted she now found them, more often than, endearing, but Rachel wouldn't be Rachel if she didn't find a way to get under Quinn's skin.
"Easily?" She asked, her voice dramatically changed from the almost sweet and kind of pleading tone it had evoked only moments earlier. Her postured shifted and tightened as she took a step towards the brunette, knuckles whitening as she tightened her grip on the handle of the CD player. "You think that this was easy?" Her features became pinched and she narrowed her eyes, throwing her free hand out to her side to indicate something unseen. "Rachel, I've spent the last," she floundered for a moment, "God knows how long just trying to get you to talk to me and have basically had to resort to-to," stumbling again, she felt her cheeks colour at the word her brain supplied her with, "stalking you just to get you to pay one iota of attention to me!" Somewhere amidst her rant Rachel had lifted her head and was staring at Quinn wearing an expression the blonde couldn't figure out how to describe. And then slowly, she arched a dark eyebrow.
"It's been three weeks and two days since you first attempted to acquire my company for an evening." Rachel supplied with ease and Quinn's eyes widened as her brows hiked to her hairline.
"You were counting?" She hadn't intended for it to be a question, but she couldn't control the way her voice lilted upwards at the end. Rachel cracked a smile, one of timidity and a shyness that was undoubtedly certain, and Quinn's already mild anger drained from her to leave her heart thumping in the wake of the adrenaline rush.
"It's not every day that I find myself in possession of a stalker." She paused, taking a moment to reconsider her words, and then pursed her lips. "One that isn't Jacob Ben Israel." Quinn felt seething annoyance swell at the mention of the boy who was entirely too fixated on Quinn's fixation.
"I can definitely arrange it so that he won't ever bother you again." She watched as Rachel, chuckling at Quinn's words, dropped her gaze to where the blonde was absently gesturing with her free hand and she curled it into a fist to quell the nervous motion.
"That's very sweet of you, Quinn." Quinn's smile came a little tentatively, unsure of whether or not it should be making an appearance and it wavered at the edges as Rachel shuffled down the steps leading up to her front door. "Actually, a lot of the things you've done lately have been sweet." Silence suddenly holding her captive, Quinn could do little more than blink owlishly at the shorter girl as she took small, careful steps towards her, mindful of the snow and potential for slippery conditions. Rachel's brow creased in a gentle frown as she watched the fluffy white substance shift beneath her boots. "Though I admit I didn't immediately realise that. But I've been considering," Rachel took a breath, letting it out as a visibly shaky stream in the cool morning air, "everything really, and I think I maybe should have given you the benefit of the doubt." Quinn's lips quirked higher into a smirk at that and she shook her head, short hair swaying where it poked out from beneath her toque as she shook her head in bemusement. She was too flummoxed by their current conversation to even realise she should maybe have been irritated by the idea that Rachel had obviously been thinking about Quinn's true motives and still hadn't bothered to return any of her calls or texts. Or emails. Or post-its. And okay, so she'd been a little obsessive.
"Are you saying that you made a mistake?" She hedged, ducking her head to catch deep brown eyes. "That you were wrong?" Rachel's head snapped up and the movement was so violent that Quinn had to force herself to remain where she was and not take a step back.
"No." Rachel denied, a little feverishly, then licked her lips and lifted her hands to tuck her hair behind her ears. "I'm not, I didn't mean-" Quinn couldn't contain the giggle that threatened and Rachel shot her one of her patented diva glares. "You're teasing me." She said flatly.
"It's hard to resist," she admitted, raising a hand to sweep tufts of blonde hair out of her eyes, "you're kind of adorable when you blush." And her words only served to darken the shade of red flushing Rachel's cheeks. But seeing her embarrassment, Quinn suddenly sobered as if it were a reminder of the prospect of her own potentially impending humiliation. Shoving her free hand into her jacket pocket, she then waved it out to the side, gesturing uselessly with the corner of her coat. "Why did you come down here, Rach?" For a moment the brunette just stared at her, eyes intense as they flickered across Quinn's face. Eventually, she heaved a sigh and shook her head, words coming with uncertainty.
"You never call me that." Quinn's stomach rolled uncomfortably, churned by shame and regret.
"That was the old me. A different me." She swayed toward Rachel as if wanting to reach out to her. "I'm not that person anymore, Rachel. I'm not." Her words were emphatic, almost frantic in her desperation to make the brunette understand. To make her believe. Slowly, Rachel began to nod.
"I know." She breathed, her words stealing the very air from Quinn's lungs and siphoning the strength from her legs. "That's why I've decided to agree to your proposal." Green eyes blinked stupidly.
"You're agreeing to- Oh. Oh." And a kind of joyful laughter bubbled up inside Quinn's chest, reverberating up until it found its freedom in the parting of her lips. And Rachel, eyes bright with some unvoiced pleasure, sent her own melodic laughter to mingle with Quinn's. It lasted only a short moment, but it was an important one and so it felt as though it hung suspended in lost time. And then, teeth flashing across her lower lip, Quinn took a step forward to close the distance between them. Her heart rate spiked and she saw Rachel swallow convulsively. The reflex gave her pause. "If I'm crossing some kind of invisible 'Rachel Berry boundary', you can-"
"No." Rachel interrupted, waving a hand in an effort to abate Quinn's concerns and speaking quickly to correct her. "No, I'm just…" She took a breath, lips curving upwards shyly. "I'm just preparing myself."
"Oh." A whisper, a breath on the breeze, an acceptance. Rachel's words sent a thrill through Quinn, one that pulled at her, drew her closer to the brunette.
"I feel I must warn you," Rachel began again, words still coming quick, "that my fathers are currently watching us through a gap in the blinds of the living room window." Flustered, Quinn jerked her head to the side so she was looking around Rachel and toward the aforementioned window. Finding two pairs of eyes scrutinizing her with interest, she felt her face flare and returned her attention to the girl before her.
"Are they going to be really mad if I kiss you?" She asked, and watched as Rachel worried her lower lip, considering Quinn's words; their implications.
"No, but I can't guarantee that it won't lead to intense questioning when they invite you over for dinner one night next week." And Quinn found herself grinning at the implications lacing Rachel's own. She felt giddy, high on the moment; on Rachel. And taking her hand from her pocket and lightly gripping the front of the brunette's coat, Quinn tugged the other girl forward, delight brightening her face as Rachel complied with a small gasp.
"One question." Rachel said, her breath warm against Quinn's chilled lips.
"Yeah?" Quinn's voice had turned ragged in their closeness and it stuttered over the query.
"Why did you pick that song?" For a second, Quinn had absolutely no idea to what Rachel Berry was referring. And then she remembered the weight of the CD player hanging from an arm that felt boneless through nerves, and she grinned a little sheepishly.
"Because you kept raining on mine." She said, watching as Rachel's face broke into a wide smile and she felt her heart warm. "Because that was the first time I really, truly realised how amazing you are." Taking a deep breath, she inched closer, words spilling from her lips as she moved. "And that I was kind of falling in love with you." She knew if she let Rachel open her mouth to comment, she'd be forced to wait an undeterminable length of time before she'd be able to do what she was desperate to without being rude and cutting her off mid-sentence, which Quinn didn't honestly think she was above doing at that point. So intend of risking a spat so early in their relationship – and that word made Quinn's head spin in all the right ways – she tightened her grip on the material of Rachel's bright red coat and pressed their lips together. It was a soft, slightly chilled pressure at first that had Quinn releasing a breath through her nose that both felt and sounded like she'd been holding it in forever. She became numbly aware of Rachel's hands snaking to her hips, bunching handfuls of a mustard yellow jacket in her fists, like a sudden jolt of searing heat to the chest after being submerged in a lake of ice. And then there was a hesitant tongue seeking entrance to her mouth and warmth spilled in as Quinn parted her lips.
She'd been going about it the wrong way, she knew that now, but the important thing to remember was that she'd gotten it right in the end. And standing in the middle of the Berry's snow covered front yard with two sets of paternal eyes on them and Rachel pressed tightly against her, mouth melding with her own as she drank in the feelings and thoughts that their first kiss imbued her with, she gave a silent 'thank you' to anyone that might have be listening, looking out for her. And vowed not to mess this up.
The next time Rachel Berry found a note in her locker, this one reading; "I was thinking a movie of your choice and then dinner? Breadtix, or the place on fifth? They have vegan options. –Q x", she did not hesitate to reply.