I Can't Let You Be, Most Nights I Hardly Sleep

by Riveted

Rachel is asking you questions but you can't quite hear them. Slowly the words fade and only one pulsing sentence, white hot and obnoxiously loud in your ear drums, echoes in your mind: Save her before it's too late.

A drop in the ocean,

A change in the weather,

I was praying that you and me might end up together.

It's like wishing for rain as I stand in the desert,

But I'm holding you closer than most,

'Cause you are my heaven.

~ A Drop in the Ocean, Ron Pope

Fantasizing about a relationship is much easier than actually being in one. But it's also incredibly difficult. Because pining for someone? You're plagued by thoughts of what can be and what might have been. Regret, guilt, and self-pity are regular occurrences. You think these things as you rest your back against the bumpy wall of a small run-down bridal shop. Rachel is smiling her star smile that she will probably show off to audiences if she gets to- no- when she gets to Broadway. You smooth out the front of your dress and cross your arms in front of you. Maybe if you do that it will be easier to hold all of these feelings that are threatening to pour out of your heart, or what's left of it. When she spins, the white gossamer fabric shimmers brightly in the dim lit boutique and your chest seizes causing you to wince. She asks you about it, her eyes gleaming with her usual compassion but you hold up a hand and give her a crooked smile. When she settles down she turns to look at the mirror in front of her. Rachel is asking you questions but you can't quite hear them. Slowly the words fade and only one pulsing sentence, white hot and obnoxiously loud in your ear drums, echoes in your mind.

Save her before it's too late.

It's like a drop in the ocean

The first time you saw Rachel Berry was on a Tuesday. The second week of school to be exact. You would have noticed her sooner if you hadn't been in a such an exhausted haze from trying out for the Cheerios. Also worrying into the early morning that someone would find out that your name was Lucy had contributed significantly. That particular Tuesday you were far more alert then you had been that previous week. Your good mood is momentarily ruined when you run into someone hard, causing you to stumble.

"Oh I am terribly sorry. I didn't notice you there. My name is Rachel Berry." You pause at the sudden onslaught of unnecessary words said in a smooth and bright voice. You take a step back and stare confusedly into deep brown eyes.

And then she smiles.

You uncertainly smile back but it feels like plastic molded on your skin. For some reason your Quinn Fabray smile that you had been practicing for hours in front of a mirror during the summer doesn't quite feel right for this girl. Deep down in the recesses of your consciousness Lucy tries to claw its way to the surface and a flicker of her shy bashful smile seeps through the fallacy.

When the girl with the argyle sweater vest, short skirt, and woolen knee highs rushes off with a determined glint in her eye your stomach sinks. She brought Lucy back. But not just the part of Lucy that makes you weaker and more vulnerable. The part that lingers too long when girls walk in front of you. You rush to the restroom as fast as your legs will take you. With a harsh glare you had practiced for three hours over the weekend you scare two giggling freshman out of your sight.

As soon as they're gone you crumple, clenching your hands hard on the white porcelein of the sink in front of you. You let out a shaky breath that resembles frustration and you stare hard at your reflection. After you straighten your pony tail and head back to class one thought lingers in your mind. Everything would be perfect if only you could change your eye color. Because your weight, face, and personality might be Quinn Fabray but your eyes will always be Lucy's.

That's why when you see her next time with a coy smile behind your hand you whisper an order to a jock and Rachel Berry is covered in bright red slushy. And so your reign of terror begins. You swear that you can hear Lucy whimper in the back of your mind. The thought brings a smile to your bright red lips.

A change in the weather

The dynamics between the two of you change. It is not even intentional on your part. After you're pregnant everyone treats you differently. The crowds don't part for you anymore, boys' eyes are no longer full of awe, and the pack of your supposed friends are no longer in sight. But the change that perhaps matters to you the most is how Rachel Barbra Berry treats you. In the beginning it's a gentle hand with a tissue when your pregnancy hormones are a bit too much to handle and you can't take it anymore. Then it's a kind smile. And then it just snow balls from there. You're not friends. The most words you share is a stilted conversations about musicals which you have a basal knowledge of at best.

You were waiting to be picked up by Puck one day after school. Usually she's practicing in the auditorium but for some reason today she's sitting on the steps to the school, chin resting on her knees, eyes far away. And in that moment Rachel looks small. And vulnerable.

She doesn't even notice when you stand next to her until you gently prod her shoulder. She jolts up in surprise but as soon as she see it's you an eager smile stretches her face.

"Why hello Quinn!"

"Hi," you whisper back softly, wincing as you sat on a hard step.

There's an awkward silence for a bit and you glance at the trees, still stripped brutally of their leaves even though the worst of winter is over. Just as you lick your lips and start a harsh musing about barrenness you hear a small inhale. It's tentative and slightly afraid.

"Have you ever heard of Funny Girl?" she asks.

And you feel like you have two options. You can either give her an annoyed eye roll and ignore her. Or you can try to interact with this too kind girl who deserves so much more than what she gets.

"I know of it but I don't know about it exactly."

"Would you like me to tell you about it?"

When you respond with a small nod she launches into a very consuming explanation complete with eager gesticulations and modulated tones full of excitement and enthusiasm. Even though you barely say anything, perhaps a dry observation here, an affirmative statement there that conversation has a bright jubilant feeling attached to it. Because you made her laugh. And smile.

I was praying that you and me might end up together.

You're excellent at denial and suppression of feelings. You are definitely not a braggart but it's your forte. But with Rachel it's different. At some point you just sort of give up on denying the feelings you have and at least quietly acknowledge them in the back of your mind. The first time it happens is when she gives you her customary "Hello, Quinn" as she passes you in the halls, complete with a small wave. You always smile back and say "Hey".

This day isn't different then any other. But when you give her your smile and watch her covertly out of the corner of your eye something in you stomach falls. Because your eyes are lingering too long on the backs of her legs and you imagine sliding a hand up and down the smooth expanse of skin. When you begin to feel heat you smooth the pleats of your newly earned cheerio skirt and rush for the showers. Coach won't mind if you take one before or after practice.

As the burning water scalds your skin bright pink you brace a shaking hand against the tiles of the shower partition. The water mingles with salty tears as you accept it. You like Rachel Berry. So what if you had a baby, bullied her mercilessly for a year, and sold yourself as a stereotypical popular teenager?

Of course realizations are far different than acting on these feelings. Sure you understand you feelings more now but you sure as hell aren't going to mount Rachel Berry in the hallway like Brittany and Santana do in the locker room when they think no one's looking. But when you're making out with Sam and then Finn you imagine that their big strong hands are small and petite and their hard kisses are soft and gentle. It's too hard to resist those thoughts any more.

It's like wishing for rain as I stand in the desert

You thought you had experienced jealousy before. When Rachel was trying to steal Finn from under your nose the vicious feeling you felt was what you equated to jealousy. But then you see Rachel kiss Finn, a large smile widening even more as she deepens the kiss and you feel like flinging a chair across the room. You know it's their whatever month-a-versery but you still feel the need to leave for Cheerio practice early and run until your mouth tastes like phlegm and you chest heaves.

That's how Santana finds you, with your hands harshly pressed against your knees as you struggle to breathe. You know she knows because there is only pity in her eyes. And sure you two have had your differences and yeah she may not be exactly the best friend in the world but when she just shrugs and shoulder and awkwardly helps you stand to your full height you let out a shaky sigh of gratitude.

"Thanks," you mumble quietly as you limp together to the showers. Peals of girlish laughter echo in the locker room and you stop, not quite ready to put on the outgoing facade.

"Well I know how it feels." Your nose wrinkles at the unusual pitying tone in the other girl's voice. But you ignore it and straighten your shoulders.

"You're not telling anybody about it." It's a command and an entreaty rolled into a soft sentence.

"I'll take it to the grave, Fabray. I'm not that much of a bitch."

You wince at the loaded comment as she brushes past you but your probably deserve it. As you shower and imagine the way it must feel to press Rachel against a locker and kiss her you sigh and wish for so much more.

But I'm holding you closer than most

The disconnect from wholesome girl Quinn Fabray who may not be a cheerleader anymore but is still cookie cutter goodie two shoes to punk rebellious Quinn happens one Thursday afternoon. You're on your back on your bed staring at the ceiling, feeling pressure and regret course through your veins. Thoughts of college, past failures, and insecurities overrun your meticulous and carefully compartmentalized brain and you swear to God that you wish you could do it all again. If only you hadn't met her in the hall that day, if only you hadn't drunk that one extra wine cooler that sent you over the edge, if only you had listened to the dying Lucy who always had more logic and reason than you do.

All of these feelings overwhelm you until you just cannot breathe. You gasp for air and jerk up form your bed, heart pounding in your ears. You need a cure. You need something to numb it all. So you take your purse and enter the mall in a cardigan, a floral dress, practical wedges, and blonde hair. You exit it with fishnet stockings, choppy pink hair, and a leather skirt with a barely there top that tightly hugs your breasts and waist.

You simultaneously feel liberated and chagrined. You may have temporarily rid yourself of all the pressure and guilt but as you get into your car and drive home you're worried about one thing only. If Rachel sees me like this will she hate me? And maybe that's the whole point. But you can't think like that. So what if you fantasize about her at least once a day and have a secret picture of her saved on your phone from Nationals? She does not motivate most of your actions. She just can't.

'Cause you are my heaven

Rachel Berry saves you. She stops your temporary insanity of getting back your daughter - can you even call her that still if she cries in you arms?- with rationality that reminds you a bit of Lucy. She's the saving grace that motivates you to try for Yale. You fall for her even harder. And all these urges to just suppress everything that comes to the surface when you're with her start to fall to the way side. You let yourself hug her back. You let your hands linger a bit when you touch her shoulder. Maybe she notices. Half of you hopes she does and doesn't.

But then the whole wedding debacle begins. When you first get wind of it in the bathroom you just mutely hand her your acceptance letter. In a sense you want to show off a bit. Show her that you are better then Finn Lima loser Hudson. You're going to an Ivy League school with top marks and he's going to be a mechanic. Maybe she'd be impressed. And she is. But not in the way that you wanted.

In the beginning you are numb. As she becomes more and more public about it you start to feel furious. Because it's pretty clear who is first now in her goals and dreams. And sure love is important but Finn Hudson over Broadway? What had happened to the driven diva who was willing to do anything to be a star? You stare at her sometimes and try to find the remnants of that girl. But it's getting harder and harder to find the pieces of the Rachel you fell in love with. And that scares you but it also makes you all the more determined to stop this. Rachel Berry saved you time and time again. You need to return the favor.

A/N Well it's been awhile. I just got so many faberry feels from that promo for the episode next week. That coupled with listening to "A Drop in the Ocean" by Ron Pope created this one-shot. The ending is pretty open ended but I encourage you to come to a positive conclusion. I hope you enjoyed it, I love getting inside Quinn's messed up head.