"You're late." Tracy said as Rachel charged through the backdoor of the kitchen, frantically tossing her coat over the counter.
"I know, I'm so sorry. My bus was delayed." Rachel panted, clipping her name tag to the front of her black and white waitressing uniform. Tracy handed the brunette a serving tray and a clean apron.
"Listen, it's a full-house tonight so I need you focused, okay?" Her boss said.
Rachel nodded quickly. She began tying up the apron.
"What's the function again?" Rachel asked.
Tracy shrugged. "God knows. Some stuffy rich crowd - a retirement party I think." She mumbled, running a hand through her greying hair.
"Remember, just pour the wine, laugh at their jokes, smile, and maybe tonight we'll get out of here on time for once." Her boss huffed, glancing at her watch.
Tracy was a good boss. Sure, she could be a little rough around the edges at times, but Rachel had grown to like her over the years. Tracy had two sons and a brother she was trying to put through college. And like Rachel, she was a single mother with no margin for error, and zero time to complain about crappy, underpaid waitressing jobs like this one. Rachel liked that she understood how tough it could be as an only parent, especially on minimum wage.
"Okay, take these drinks out to the cocktail lounge." Tracy instructed.
"Sure." Rachel said, quickly patting her hair down to keep it in place.
The brunette took the tray out through the swinging doors and was instantly hit with the buzzing of conversation, the laughter and soft piano playing across the bar. A chandelier hung from the ceiling and flowers had been arranged around the room. The silverware gleamed, the tablecloths were blindingly white.
Rachel glided around the room, as she usually did, smiling and listening occasionally to the piano softly filling the room. Rachel recognised the tune instantly. It was 'I'm Through With Love' in the style of Ella Fitzgerald's 1960s cover. Apart from at work, Rachel hardly ever listened to music. In fact, most of the time she actively avoided it. Nowadays it only made her heart break at the memory of those long-held dreams she had in high school, back when anything was possible, back when she thought singing was her destiny, her fate. How wrong she was.
The guests seemed to be really enjoying the drinks, some of them going as far as to complement Rachel even though she honestly had nothing to do with it. She smiled nonetheless, exhaustion making her thoughts blurry. She'd worked almost sixty hours this week and desperately needed some rest. Rachel picked up a few empty glasses off the tables and carried them swiftly back through the swinging kitchen doors. As she set the tray back down, Tracy flew past her, pushing a trolley of plates and glasses.
"Hey, kid, you got a call." She told her.
"Oh, right. Thanks, Tracy." The brunette replied, and ducked swiftly over to the telephone.
"Hello?"
"Mama?" A voice sang out.
"Hey baby girl," Rachel cooed, "how are you doing?"
"Good, Mama."
"Have you had your bath?"
"Uh-huh"
"Brushed your teeth?
"Yup."
"And are you being a good girl for Mrs Ryerson?"
"Uh-huh." Spencer said. "We had meatballs and spaghetti for dinner. Mrs Ryerson says she makes a special sauce with peanut butter in it."
"Peanut butter?! Your favourite!" Rachel gasped. "You're a lucky girl, aren't you?"
Rachel beamed at the sound of her daughter's soft, delighted, giggle over the phone. Spencer had just turned eight four days ago and Rachel was still picking up extra shifts to try and cover the presents she'd bought the girl. They didn't have much, but Rachel managed to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. They might've gone without a lot of things over the years, but one thing they weren't short on was love. Rachel was crazy about her little girl and Spencer just adored her mother. They did everything together and Rachel wouldn't have it any other way.
"Okay, honey well you better put Mrs Ryerson back on the line, okay? Mama will be home in a couple of hours okay, sweetie?"
"Okay, Mommy. Love you." Spencer mumbled.
Rachel grinned. "Love you too, peanut."
There was a brief crackle over the line as Spencer handed the phone over, then Mrs Ryerson's voice rang out, "I thought I might make her some warm milk before she goes to bed, that's okay isn't it?"
"Of course." Rachel replied. "Thank you again for watching her, honestly, what would I do without you?"
"Oh, suffer endlessly I imagine." The old woman laughed down the phone. "No, honestly, dear, it's no trouble at all. We've just had dinner and I'm about to read a bedtime story."
"Thank you. I shouldn't be much longer, Mrs Ryerson, I promise." Rachel said.
"No need to thank me, dear, that little girl is an absolute pleasure. And please, honey, call me Vicky. Mrs Ryerson sounds like my mother." The woman said.
Thank God for this woman, Rachel thought. Mrs Ryerson was a sixty-two year old retired hairdresser who lived opposite Rachel, on the same floor. She had come to think of the woman as a kind of mother figure, especially having had three children of her own. And Rachel had to admit, she was one of the only few friends the brunette had made since moving to Indiana. She owed her a lot. Mrs Ryerson had saved her countless times by offering to watch Spencer while she worked.
"Okay," Rachel chuckled. "Thank you so much, Vicki."
"I'll see you soon, honey." Her neighbour said.
"Okay. I'll be home soon. Bye."
The line disconnected and Rachel put the receiver back on the wall.
"Hey, kid!" Tracy barked at her from across the kitchen. Rachel hurried over to her boss who was putting several ice cream sundaes onto a tray.
"They want dessert now, think you could hand these out for me?" Her boss said.
"Sure," Rachel answered, taking the tray from the older woman.
"Make sure you don't miss a table, okay?"
Rachel nodded her head, carrying the tray out once again into the function room. The previous song had stopped now and the pianist was now playing 'My one and Only Love'. Some of the guests had started slow-dancing on the ballroom floor and Rachel couldn't help but feel her heart clench a little watching people so blissfully happy and in-love. Rachel loved her daughter and knew she would never love anything as much as her little girl, but now and then, like when she was watching people kiss in the park or hold hands in the street she couldn't help but feel a little envious. That something was missing. But then, in a second, the thought evaporated. She couldn't let herself focus on it.
"Hey! Are those chocolate sundaes?" A balding, heavyset man called to Rachel from across the room.
"Uh, yes, sir. Would you care for one?" The brunette said, as politely as she could.
"Absolutley, sweetheart." His lips peeled back over yellow, decaying teeth.
Rachel held the tray out for the man and then disappeared quickly into the crowd. She didn't want to linger around in case he offered any conversation. She strolled over to the piano and set the tray down to re-adjust her apron. Then, at that exact moment, Rachel felt something come over her. She inhaled a certain scent, a strong scent. It was perfume; a kind of floral, sweet, citrus perfume, like watermelon and grapefruit, or fresh pansies. She didn't know why, but the scent lit electricity down her spine. For a second Rachel could have sworn the smell was familiar. As if it had followed her from a dream somewhere, from another life. It smelt expensive and exotic; but that was hardly unusual at these dinners, all the women in the room were decked out in their thousand dollar ballgowns, their shinning pearls and three-inch heels. Rachel guessed that just one of those dresses could cover her rent for months.
The brunette tried to put her mind on something else. She focused on the task at hand - serving deserts to more greying, old businessmen in their three piece suits. Most of the time the guests hardly noticed her, that was one thing the brunette liked about the job - she was virtually faceless, just part of the furniture, a fixture. Completely anonymous. Rachel liked it that way. She liked being able to slip in and out of people's worlds, unnoticed and unseen.
She headed back round the other side of the bar. Several people had gotten up from their tables now so the room was even more crowded. Rachel weaved her way across the sea of dresses and suits. She stopped to clear a few empty glasses off the bar and again that sharp, heavy perfume carried across the room. It was intoxicating. Heavenly. The smell hung like a fog in Rachel's brain, clouding all other thought. It was strange. Rachel couldn't shake the feeling that she knew that scent from somewhere. It was so overwhelmingly familiar, so delightfully sweet and fresh. Yes, she thought, she was sure she remembered it, but she still couldn't place where it was from.
As Rachel continued weaving around the room, she couldn't help but pick up some snatches of conversation: a girlish laugh, a booming voice.
"Sounds great, I should introduce you too." A man said.
Rachel handed out another sundae to an older woman in the corner of the room. She took it with a smile.
"Ah, there you are Miss Fabray!" A voice exclaimed.
Rachel felt all the breath slip out of her. Miss Fabray. Miss Fabray. It couldn't be, could it? Surely not, Rachel told herself. It was just the same surname that's all. It must be common. Rachel went on serving dessert, but her hands, holding the tray, had started trembling.
"Jack, allow me to introduce you to my colleague Miss Quinn Fabray."
Dear. God.
Panic surged through the brunette's body so fast it made her head spin. She felt her heart thumping erratically in her chest, as if it had just been woken up by something. The brunette lowered her head towards the floor and quickly tried to shuffle away from the crowd, but there were too many people. Don't turn around, She told herself. Just keep going and don't turn around. But the mention of that name, the memory of the girl, of Quinn, buzzed like a fly in her brain. She had to check, didn't she? Just to know. Just to be sure, she told herself. She would quickly look, make sure it wasn't her, then sprint out of the room and into the safety of the kitchen.
Slowly, Rachel lifted her eyes from the floor and as casually as she could, moved her gaze towards where the voice had come from. And sure enough, there was the girl herself. Across the piano, dressed in an emerald green, sequinned ballgown was the Lima-born blonde, ex-cheerio, smiling radiantly, sipping a glass of white wine. Rachel couldn't move, she felt as if her feet had suddenly rooted to the floor. Quinn was really here. Standing two feet in front of her, smiling, laughing, charming everyone around her.
What the hell is she doing here! Rachel screamed internally. And in an instant, for one split second, their eyes met.
Shit.
Quinn froze for a moment. She stopped mid-conversation, the casual smile she'd been sporting a second ago evaporated like steam. And then something else came into her eyes. She furrowed her brow and stared harder at the young waitress who, she could've sworn, looked exactly like one Miss Rachel Berry.
Rachel stacked the last few empty glasses onto the silver tray and raced through the crowd at lightning speed. She kept moving, but she was painfully aware of the ex-cheerleader, behind her, hovering like a ghost from her past. Rachel managed to make it all the way to the kitchen, her heart slamming up against her ribs. She flung the door closed and stood there, breathing heavily.
Tracy walked over to the brunette and handed her an envelope.
"Okay, here's your cheque for tonight. I was suppose to give Maya hers as well, but she didn't turn up again, can you believe it? I just—" Tracy stopped herself, taking in Rachel's dishevelled appearance; her shocked expression, her face as white as a sheet.
"You okay, hun? You look like you've seen a ghost." Tracy said, putting a hand on Rachel's shoulder.
Rachel nodded her head. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine…is there anything else you need me to do?" Rachel asked.
Tracy gave the kitchen a quick once-over and shook her head.
"I think we're okay. I'll just finish counting the money and lock up." She said. "You need a ride home?"
Rachel picked up her coat from the counter and turned to face her boss. "Uh, no, I think I'll be okay tonight. But thanks anyway." Rachel smiled.
The brunette headed towards the door.
"Hey, wait!" Tracy called.
Rachel turned back.
"You're apron." Tracy stated.
Rachel looked down at her wine-stained apron and quickly unfastened it. She practically tossed it over the coat hook by the door and flung her handbag over her shoulder. "Okay, bye!" Rachel sputtered out. Her breathing still shaky and laboured. Tracy nodded her head a little and proceeded to wipe down the counter.
"Alright then. See ya tomorrow, Rach!" Tracy called, but Rachel was already half way out the door, power-walking up the pavement and into the darkness.
Rachel was not even five steps down the street when she heard the distant echo of high heels on the concrete behind her. Please, no. Rachel silently prayed. Please, don't let her recognise me. Dear God, tell me she didn't recognise me.
"Rachel?" An unmistakable voice rang out through the street.
The brunette tugged her coat up around her neck and frantically picked up her pace down the sidewalk.
"Rachel! …Rachel!" The voice called, louder this time.
The brunette drew a sharp breath and stopped dead in her tracks. This was it, she thought. The moment she'd been dreading. The moment she'd hoped would never happen, the moment she'd been running from for ten years was now playing out like a bad dream. She closed her eyes. Then, slowly, the brunette willed herself to move. She swivelled round on her heel only to be greeted by the very face she hadn't seen in over a decade.
"Quinn….." Rachel greeted.
The blonde stood before her, smiling in a grey woollen coat. Her face was as unchanged and as radiant as her high school days in Ohio. Rachel remembered the confident, blonde cheerio she fell in love with, but she also couldn't help but be in awe of the stunning woman standing in front of her. There were subtle changes in the way Quinn held herself. She seemed more comfortable, more relaxed and natural. The last ten years had only seemed to enhance the woman's elegant features. Her blonde hair, once cropped short and high, now curled and winded a few inches past her shoulders. Her lips were plum-red, and the furrow in her brow reminded Rachel of those old Hollywood actresses — classic beauty and charm. She was, as ever, breathtaking.
"My god…." Quinn said, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I can't believe this. Rachel Berry. It must be nearly…. nine years now?"
Rachel nodded sharply. "Yeah. Ten years actually." She corrected.
Quinn nodded a little but said nothing.
Rachel knew she was being cold to the blonde, but she knew too, that it was the only way she could get through the conversation without breaking down in tears. And that was not going to happen. She had to retain some dignity.
Quinn smiled. Her hazel eyes were barley visible in the darkness. Of course, everything about the blonde was beautiful, but it had always been those eyes Rachel loved best. How they seemed to glitter like ripples over oil. But seeing the blonde now, her eyes seemed different than before. There was something else in Quinn's gaze that Rachel hadn't remembered; a tiredness, a sadness perhaps. As if a light had gone out in them.
"It's good to see you." Quinn breathed out. "You look wonderful, Rach."
The brunette almost felt angry at the irony of that statement; as Quinn stood before her, swathed in a seamless, fitted ballgown that had to be worth a fortune. And Rachel stood opposite, in her tattered sneakers, worn-out jeans and coat. She felt ridiculous and ashamed.
"Thanks." The brunette replied.
"So...do you live here in Indiana?" Quinn asked.
"Yeah." Rachel said. "Just for the short-term, you know."
Quinn nodded her head gently. She seemed to be searching for the right words. As if she were treading carefully around something.
"Listen, uh, I was wondering if maybe….maybe you'd like to….catch up sometime?" The blonde trailed off, her eyes shifting between Rachel and the ground.
Rachel felt her heart speed up again. She didn't know what to say. Why did Quinn want to see her after ten years, she wondered. What did they possibly have in common now? Of course, Rachel also felt that familiar pull in her heart, urging her to say yes, to run into the blonde's arms and hold her and never let go. But her brain was telling her something different. Her brain was telling her to get as far away from this as possible. Run, it said, Run while you still can. Run and don't look back.
Quinn was still waiting for a response. She shifted her weight to the side, leaning on her leg. Then she looked at Rachel as if she were looking at the most mysterious and complicated puzzle she'd ever seen. "You don't have to, if you'd rather not….obviously." Quinn added.
Rachel could tell Quinn was nervous.
"Well, in case you change your mind, maybe you can take my card." Quinn said, wrapping her coat a little tighter around her shoulders. Rachel gave a quick nod, and sure enough, the blonde fished out a small card from her handbag and held it out for the shorter girl to take.
Rachel turned it over in her fingers. It was the kind of card that only big, fancy businesses gave out; all professionalism and importance. It was a silver printed card with metallic blue design, and raised in gleaming gold calligraphy were the words: MISS QUINN FABRAY: ATTORNEY AT LAW.
Rachel swallowed hard. Quinn was a lawyer. The brunette couldn't help but feel a few tears sting the back of her eyes as she thought of the blonde accomplishing her life-long dream. She felt overwhelmed with both utter happiness and utter sorrow. Quinn had always talked about law school, and now she'd gone and done it. She'd made something of her life. She'd made her dreams come true. Rachel only wished she could have said the same for herself.
"It's got my work and my regular phone number there." Quinn noted. "So you can call anytime, if you like. I'm going to be in town for a few months so…" but Quinn didn't finish. Something seemed to come into the ex-cheerleader's eyes and for a moment she just stared at the brunette, her eyes clouded over with…sadness? Joy? Rachel couldn't tell.
Then Quinn said, "Well…Goodnight, Rachel. It was wonderful to see you again." She said, so softly Rachel almost didn't hear it.
Before Rachel could even respond, the blonde had strode off down the street, her high heels snapping against the pavement as she went. Rachel stood there in the empty street, the business card still sitting between her fingers. She watched Quinn cross the road and disappear around the corner. And out of her sight once more.
Author's note: Well, I hope you guys liked it or are maybe a little intrigued? This is my first Faberry fic so don't judge too harshly haha :P The songs mentioned in this chapter are both Ella Fitzgerald classics (yes, I'm a huge jazz fan). Oh and for those of you who might be wondering, yes I did name Rachel's daughter Spencer after PLL's Spencer hastings...I mean, it's just a great name, right!? This might sound odd but I love names that are traditionally considered 'male' on girls...anyway, a bit of cross-over there for you! Next chapter coming soon! xx