Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. If I did, I might die… from actual glee.
A/N: I just got my computer up and running again after an unexpected hiatus, so this was the product of Glee reruns. It is in Quinn Fabray's POV and it's loosely based somewhere in Season 2 (so there are spoilers up to the Christmas eppy). All mistakes are my own. Enjoy (:
As we stand there at my doorway, I can feel his bright blue eyes boring a hole into the promise ring on my hand and I almost regret that he catches me staring at him. Because the pearly white smile that follows warms my heart, but only because I was thinking of someone else as I was staring at him. I really want to believe him when he tells me that he loves me, I do, but there's just… this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that he's in love with the idea of me—of us, as a power couple—rather than who I really am.
I know he wants to kiss me, but he probably senses my apprehension and goes for my cheek instead, waving sheepishly as he mutters something in Na'vi and jogs off.
Now that I'm alone with my thoughts, I try to expel them in a hurried exhale as my back presses against the closed front door. Fidgeting nervously by twisting the ring around my finger, I plop back down by my computer desk and stare blankly at the screen. I'm sure I look like a crazy person right now because a smile is lining my curved lips as I think back to a conversation I had tonight.
No, it had nothing to do with Sam.
In fact, it really shouldn't affect me the way it does. It was just a simple conversation with Rachel Berry, the former bane of my existence. Sometimes, I find myself recalling one of our past tiffs. I know it settled a lot more to fight about things than it does to keep them inside, like I do with everyone else. But she just seemed to understand me, igniting a fire that I wasn't sure she would be able to handle with her long-winded speech, but she did.
I guess it's safe to say that Rachel surprises me sometimes.
Not with her song selection, because it's always reminiscent of Streisand in some way, shape, or form. Or her taste in men, which we so happen to share… and if I really think about it, it's almost like I've kissed her already, whenever I kissed Finn or Puck. Though really, she took my leftovers.
So I guess she kissed me then.
The thought causes me to smirk smugly, not sure why that victory is a victory at all, and as soon as it fully sinks in, I'm left a bit baffled.
I guess I shouldn't have let Kurt talk me into listening to Katy Perry for a whole week, after Blaine and the Warblers performed for him. He always closes his eyes when 'Teenage Dream' comes on and sometimes his lips even pucker a little. I kind of admire him, how he allows himself to fall in love so easily, even when the person of his affections isn't there to pick him up.
I don't think I can do that…
Fall like that, I mean.
I'd like to think that no one can have that power over me, but really, I miss being special to someone. I miss being told that I'm beautiful, even when my bun is messy after a Cheerios practice or my shirt rises up a little and my stretch marks are visible. I miss knowing that no matter how bad my day will be, there will always be someone there at the end of the day to listen to my rants about Sue Sylvester's latest expectations of us.
Sam does that. Well, he tries to be there, but sometimes when we curl up on the couch to watch Avatar for the millionth time and he falls asleep mouthing the exact words to the movie, I'll find myself typing away at my laptop and talking more to someone like Rachel than my boyfriend. I guess it's easier talking to strangers…
And by strangers, I mean people who don't want or expect anything from you. His arm around my shoulder, or occasionally my waist, sometimes feels like an anchor. Like he's trying to keep my feet firmly planted on Earth, even though my mind wanders and he just knows by the faraway look in my eyes.
Damn them for always giving me away.
A sigh escapes my full, parted lips as I stare at my chat list, waiting impatiently for her screen name to appear. I'm not sure how long I'm sitting there, or when I finally let my head sink to the keyboard for a little snooze, but I'm jolted back to reality when my cellphone starts buzzing.
Searching around blindly for it in the dark, as the luminosity of the computer screen only bathes the immediate area around it in it's ghastly glow, a triumphant and raspy "aha!" coated with sleep leaves my lips as I bring it up to my eyes. There are three messages from Sam and one from…
Man hands?
What kind of telemarketer…
Oh!
I'm pretty sure I snickered just then, because Santana and Brittany were the ones that updated my contacts list last and they probably changed her name back to "Man hands" after she demanded more solos. Going straight to the one from Rachel, a brow quirked high on my forehead at her text message:
'Hey. I realize this is an unforgivable hour to contact you, because you're probably on your fourth round of beauty sleep, but… I could use someone to talk to.'
Okay. I'm pretty sure my eyebrow quirked so high that it disappeared completely from my face.
Rachel Berry is requesting my company. I didn't even know she could be that humble. Her ego is usually so inflated like a parachute, that it's hard to get within four feet of her without bumping into it.
Wow.
Still flabbergasted, but curious about her seemingly urgent troubles (I hope it's not her wardrobe again, because not even fashionista extraordinaire Kurt Hummel got very far with that), I decided to wait a few seconds for suspense before I text her back:
'I'm not asleep. Are you online?'
There, I sent it. I think my thumb was hovering over the button for a total of sixty seconds, but I did it. I overlook that I even took the time to notice how long it took… it wasn't that long. I don't usually text anyone right away, because I need to look busy. Why, I'm not sure. But it's in the standard book of texting.
Along with using proper grammar to text Rachel Berry, because otherwise the grammar nazi gives you a very long speech about how inappropriate chat speak is for growing minds or whatever.
Not that I would know, I don't text her…
That much.
My screen lights up again and I smile in relief when I see her name. It doesn't even make sense that I didn't think she wouldn't text me back. A lot of things don't around her, but I guess I'm used to that. This time, her words were simple, but they didn't really answer my question:
'Finn dumped me.'
I mull over her words for a moment, deciding one of two things: either no, she's not online because she doesn't want to face Finn or anyone else; or, she is online, but only under a certain way that I can find her only if she wants to be found.
So I take a chance, rubbing the lingering sleep out of my eyes as I move over to the laptop and open the cover, moving the mouse to bring it out of sleep mode. Flicking on my wireless, I pick at my manicured fingernails while I wait for messenger to sign me in, before leaning forward to stare at the screen. Clicking on her name (even though she's offline), I type out a message:
LuckyQuinn: You there?
It's a new screen name, a matching pair that Sam and I thought would be cute after we started dating, and I'm not even sure if she'll…
RachelStreisand: Yes. But how…
RachelStreisand: How did you know?
LuckyQuinn: Call it a lucky guess.
RachelStreisand: Lol.
LuckyQuinn: What?
RachelStreisand: It's just ironic that your preferred choice in screen name and… nevermind.
LuckyQuinn: Oh. I was scared there for a minute; you were using chat speak.
LuckyQuinn: You have to warn me beforehand of these types of things…
RachelStreisand: Ha ha, Quinn.
RachelStreisand: If that's a jab at my attempts at being more modern, you might as well join everyone else and start using vowels to express yourself.
LuckyQuinn: No, thanks.
LuckyQuinn: I got your message…
RachelStreisand: Probably because I sent it to you.
LuckyQuinn: Obviously.
LuckyQuinn: Are you okay?
LuckyQuinn: …
LuckyQuinn: Hello?
RachelStreisand: Sorry, I was just getting some tissues.
RachelStreisand: I'm fine.
LuckyQuinn: Umm, unless you're going to stuff your bras with those, I doubt it.
RachelStreisand: Playing off of my weaknesses is not what I need right now, Fabray.
LuckyQuinn: What? Oh… oh god, I didn't mean it like that.
LuckyQuinn: You're perfect.
RachelStreisand: Don't say that… I'm not perfect. I'm a mess.
RachelStreisand: I messed everything up with Finn…
RachelStreisand: Everything.
LuckyQuinn: How bad is it?
RachelStreisand: I've been singing Grenade for the past hour.
LuckyQuinn: …
LuckyQuinn: I'm coming over.
RachelStreisand: Quinn, you really don't have to.
LuckyQuinn: Yes, I do.
LuckyQuinn: I don't want you cutting off any appendages or getting run over by a train.
RachelStreisand: Lol, Quinn… I wouldn't do that over anyone.
LuckyQuinn: No, but you might rip the brakes out of someone's car.
RachelStreisand: …
RachelStreisand: I plead the fifth.
LuckyQuinn: Lol! You're incorrigible, Berry. What musical do you want me to bring?
RachelStreisand: You don't need to bring anything. Just yourself.
LuckyQuinn: Fine, I'll bring Across the Universe.
LuckyQuinn: Also, I'm not eating for two anymore, but a good deed deserves popcorn.
RachelStreisand: Duly noted.
LuckyQuinn: Okay, I'll be over in fifteen.
RachelStreisand: Thanks, Quinn.
RachelStreisand: You don't know how much this means to me.
LuckyQuinn: Of course I do. You'd have to be crazy to pass up a movie night with me ;)
RachelStreisand: -rolls eyes-
RachelStreisand: First of all, it's technically morning right now.
LuckyQuinn: So?
RachelStreisand: So… I just wanted to point that out.
LuckyQuinn: Uh huh.
LuckyQuinn: Okay, so you didn't just want to get in the last word…
LuckyQuinn: Nice try, Berry.
LuckyQuinn has signed off.
Feeling rather proud of myself, I gather my coat, the dvd I promised to bring, and my own set of house keys. My mother is visiting my grandparents, so I have the whole house to myself. It's nicer living here without my father constantly breathing down my neck, telling me how useless I am. And I guess I probably could have invited Rachel over, but I'm afraid that all the little memoirs of my relationship with Sam around the house will bring her to tears, since I have something that she doesn't.
It's not much; just a few photobooth shots and some movies that he brought over.
But I remember what it's like to feel completely alone. Sometimes I envied her closeness with Finn, though I don't want anything with him anymore in that way. He was a nice shoulder to lean on, but he wasn't the reason that I was disappointed when I asked him to get back with me.
It was the fact that Rachel had asked me to, as some sort of test in their relationship, and he passed.
I know we're not friends. Apart from the Glee Club, we don't really share any common interests and she's actually quite annoying every other word. But we're in Glee Club together, and I'd rather help her get over this broody, sulking stage than deal with her song selection when school starts again. That'd be a nightmare.
Besides, we already lost a member to a rival club and keeping the pampered—or is that pompous?—star happy means keeping the club happy.
So those are all the reasons why I'm doing this, or so I tell myself as I'm driving over to her place. It's pretty cold outside this time of year and I had to put on the heater, before leaning over to turn on the radio. Ironically, Grenade was playing, aka the song that Rachel is exhausting.
These kinds of things only happen to me, I swear.
"If my body was on fire,
Ooh, you'd watch me burn down in flames
You said you loved me, you're a liar,
'Cause you never, ever, ever did, baby…
But darlin', I'd still catch a grenade for ya."
By the time I reached her driveway, I found myself singing along towards the end. Rather loudly, may I add, and my cheeks must have flushed ten kinds of red when I looked up to see that the light in her room was on. It wasn't like she could hear me or anything, and the windows were rolled up as high as they could go, but so much as acknowledging any personal feelings—even in a song, where the spoken words aren't my own—was embarrassing around my fellow Lima loser.
Besides, I had convinced myself that I didn't like that song, not one bit. So how did the brunette get me to sing it just by mentioning it? Were we singing it at the same time, while in different parts of the same town?
Don't be stupid, Q, I mentally chastised myself. Besides, she's probably blown out the speakers of her stereo system by trying to out-sing it anyway.
Taking in a deep breath in anticipation for the eventual disaster that is this comfort visit, I made my way up to her door, and it was only then that I caught the tail end of the same song blaring out through her open windows and instead of my usual scowl, I find myself smiling.
Rachel Berry is the bane of my existence, but sometimes I'm not sure who I'd be without having met her.
Actually…
I'd probably be a lot more sane.
A/N: The featured song is Grenade by Bruno Mars.