Disclaimer: Not mine. Characters belong to Ryan Murphy and a bunch of other people. I just love them a lot.
Spoilers: All episodes are fair game.
A/N: I just got done with a story that I was struggling for ages to finish, so this was basically a rebound fic to work off the stress of the last one. ;) As a result of that though, it was written in kind of a one-day-rush-session thing, and I'm posting before I proof read. So who knows how this will actually read to people who aren't quite as *lobotomy-patient stare* as I am right now. Just a warning.
A/N II: So, apparently, I get all my Glee fic prompts from listening to the soundtracks. My last one was inspired by a repetitive listening of Lea Michele's 'Crush'. This one, which is only my second Glee fic so if anything is 'off' hopefully I'll improve ;), was inspired by 'Total Eclipse of The Heart'.
Quinn fumbles for the television remote, almost knocking it to the floor before she grips it and lifts it from the arm of the sofa. Her eyes are heavy, so she runs her index finger along the pattern of buttons until she finds the one that feels right and presses it without looking, extinguishing the blue-white light that bathed the room in an ethereal glow. The stinging pain behind her eyes stops and for a minute or two, she just sits there quietly and lets them grow accustomed to the new darkness. It takes that long for her to remember where she is.
At first, she doesn't recognise the scent of the place. More familiarized with the tang of potpourri, lavender cleaning products and whiskey, she's confused when the smell of baking, popcorn and passion fruit hits her, and it's only when she's dissected those three things that her eyes allow her to see her imminent surroundings.
There's a coffee table between the sofa and the T.V., the bowl sitting on it accounted for the popcorn smell, and the walls behind that and to the sides she knew held pictures, but for now could only make out dark outlines of the people in them. Glancing to the right out of the open doorway to the living room she's in, Quinn can see the outline of the staircase leading up to the second floor, the first few steps illuminated by the slight moonlight leaking in through the windows of the door opposite it, slinking across the rug that makes a bridge across the wooden paneling of the hallway to touch them.
Beyond the hallway, and Quinn's line of sight, and through another wide, open doorway lies a small dinning room with a rustic-looking table and four matching chairs. And to the left of that room is the kitchen, the worktops of which are still scattered with all manner of cooking utensils and ingredients; flour, egg shells, an oversized bag of chocolate chips. That accounted for the scent of cookies still lingering in the air.
Quinn's eyes slide to the right to find the clock on the wall, just able to make out where the coiled hands are pointing. 2am. She sighs, thankful it's the weekend.
A sigh is lifted from somewhere next to her, stirring the air and disturbing the silence around her. She'd almost forgotten she wasn't alone, so used to the feeling of it. Her gaze shifts from the shadowed clock, dropping her head until her chin is touching her shoulder and her nose is almost brushing the dark hair that is splayed across her arm and part of her chest. She doesn't know where Rachel gets her shampoo, only knows that it accounts for the lingering scent of passion fruit she sometimes, and now, detects all over the house. At school, even when Rachel isn't there. Sometimes, she wonders if the songstress leaves some kind of imprint on her, if the fragrance that is somehow uniquely Rachel really does linger on her clothes or if it's all in her imagination. Then she wonders why she would be imagining it, and pushes her thoughts in a different direction.
They had, evidentially, fallen asleep during their third movie of the night. They'd begun what was to be a feel good musical movie marathon with Quinn's favourite; 'Singing In The Rain', then moved to Rachel's favourite; 'Funny Girl' - like there could be another - and had wanted to end the evening with everyone's favourite; 'Grease'. A movie Rachel was shocked to find Quinn had only seen once or twice, since the shorter girl had practically seen John Travolta strut his bad boy stuff every day since her birth.
"It's not the kind of movie my parents…" Quinn had started to explain, pausing in the middle of scooping cookie dough out of a large silver bowl to set her eyes to the ceiling, as if hoping to find the right words somehow suspended up there. "They didn't want me watching or being around anything that could have any kind of negative influence on me." And she had tried to laugh, but it had come out as a sigh. "Guess that didn't work out too well for them."
But somewhere in the midst of the dancing hotdog and the bun, and John Travolta singing 'Sandy', she'd been idly stroking her fingers across her stomach and had drifted off. Quinn, she remembers, had been curled into the arm of the sofa with her legs tucked under herself and her steadily growing stomach, much the same position she was in now, but she remembers Rachel sitting half an arms length away, awake, probably swooning over Danny Zuko as he was bathed in the iridescent light of the drive-in theatre screen. Now though, Rachel's position is similar to Quinn's. Dancer's legs are folded beneath her, her body rolled onto its side. Quinn can feel Rachel's cheek, face obscured by her hair, pressed against her right arm and the sleeping girl's own right arm is stretched across the blonde's rounded stomach. It's curious, the moment Quinn realises her hand is beneath Rachel's atop her baby bump, because it's as though something sets it alight. Perhaps the knowledge itself, because she's sure she wasn't feeling this before. The fire climbs, stroking along each and every muscle as it rolls up along her arm, settling right in her heart before it rides out along with her blood and spreads to every inch of her body.
She sits, silent and unmoving, practically able to hear the crackling of the fire in the quiet, afraid to breathe. Afraid to disturb Rachel. Afraid Rachel will move. And she almost laughs at that, because of all of the things in Quinn's life that she could be afraid of, should be afraid of, that should be the least of her worries. But Rachel shifts ever so slightly beside her and Quinn holds her breath, and she realises that it isn't, no matter how much it should be.
Being an unwed pregnant teen had gotten her unceremoniously tossed out onto the curb. Being a scared, yet often ruthless liar had caused Finn's mom to ask her politely to leave, because Finn himself had been too angry to do it. She'd been alone and terrified, and not a lot had changed.
Except now she isn't alone anymore. And that Rachel Berry is the reason for that is as mystifying as it had previously been unthinkable to her. She hadn't really considered what she would do if her parents found out about the baby, had somehow tricked herself into thinking it would all be okay no matter what happened. She hadn't dreamed she'd end up homeless. That not even her closest friends would be able to come to the rescue. That Rachel would have tentatively approached her after Glee club and ask if she wanted to stay with her and her dads. That after everything Quinn had done to her, said to her, Rachel would be able to find it in herself to forgive and forget.
Quinn can't. Daily she replays scenes in her mind, doesn't matter if she doesn't want to, where she's throwing some insult Rachel's way or running her into the ground with her friends as Rachel stands no more than a few feet away, clearly able to hear every word. Quinn's heart hurts at those memories, like the long gnarled fingers of them are squeezing her heart until she's sure it will burst it hurts so much. She's been so awful to Rachel, and Rachel gave her a home when she didn't have one.
And Quinn knows that's because Rachel is a far better person than she could ever be. Personality, talent, in every sense of the word. Quinn sees herself through other people's eyes; an angel who didn't deserve her wings, stripped of them. She can't find the energy that had once been there to argue that anymore, isn't sure she'd want to if she could. Sometimes it's better not to have to live up to people's expectations.
Which was another thing Rachel seems to be better at than everyone else. She doesn't appear to hold any expectations over Quinn. Her parents had expected Quinn to be just like her sister. Finn had expected her to be the sweet, cheerleading girlfriend who could do no wrong. Puck; that she would come to him so they could be a family. Sue Sylvester had expected her to never gain a pound and somehow find the strength to put in 200%, though no one could tell her she hadn't lived up to that one. Until the baby.
She could be bitter, if she really wanted to. She could resent the new life growing inside her, hate it for taking everything away from her. But she doesn't. In some weird, twisted T.V. drama way, it had actually made things better. Because if it hadn't been for the baby, for her, then Quinn would still be living with parents she thought would love her unconditionally, under a roof built from a false sense of security and lies. And maybe it would have been later when she'd find out just how heinous her mom and dad could be. Maybe then, she would have had no one.
But now, she has Rachel. And she knows what it's like to live in a house that somehow smells of love, not liquor. With people that don't expect her to be like anyone else. That can't wait for her daughter to arrive, instead of people that wish she'd never been conceived. To them, her daughter would be a sin. And Quinn knows that if it hadn't been her getting pregnant, something else would have made them shun her.
Because Rachel's hand contracts around Quinn's in her sleep and Quinn can feel her heart leap and speed up. Still feels the fire in her, but now it makes her warm all over, instead of scorching in just a few places. And, really, she knows it was unavoidable. But she isn't sure what scares her most; the feeling of contentment she has right now, or the idea that the feelings are completely beyond her control. That they would have been no matter what.
Because even when she hated Rachel, she's sure she loved her.
Looking back, it's often disconcerting to Quinn how obvious it was. Frightens her that she could have been so blind to something that was right there for so long. Because she was supposed to see things like that. Weaknesses. It had been her job to pick up on them and exploit them. She'd just assumed she was mad at Rachel for trying to steal her boyfriend. In fact, she probably was pissed because of that, just not for the reason she'd expected.
Because even she had held expectations over her own head. Still did, she just didn't hold them as tightly.
"You can't be what people want you to be, Quinn." Rachel had told her one night, sitting it the darkened pink room, blanketed by the night. "You have to do things for you and not worry about other people."
"Rachel Berry life lesson number one." Quinn chuckled, but it was humourless. It had only been a week since she'd left Finn's and things had been raw. Still were. But, looking back on that night, Quinn thinks it says a lot that only a week after moving in, they'd already developed the habit of staying up talking in Rachel's room until they were both too tired to continue. Sometimes, Rachel's eyes would close long before her lips stopped moving, and Quinn would have to insist that she sleep.
And Rachel's words ring in her ears now, in the black silence of the room, reminding her that she has to keep herself in the forefront of her mind, not be wondering what people around her expect her to do. And for the most part, she doesn't anymore. She's already shattered people's perceptions of her, she doesn't have a lot left to lose in their eyes.
But then, there's Rachel. Who doesn't look at her with judgement or pity in her eyes. Who doesn't whisper as she walks through the hallways of McKinley. Who doesn't say one thing to her face and another behind her back. Rachel, who goes out of her way to walk with Quinn to classes and who knows exactly which bathroom to find her in when she doesn't show for one because she's crying in one of the stalls. Who doesn't flinch when Quinn falls back on old habits and snaps at her. Doesn't wait even a moment before forgiving her.
And even though it terrifies Quinn more than anything, even though that fact itself is inexplicable, Quinn understands it. Because when you scratch the surface, realise that there's more to Rachel than the initial pomposity and conceited exuberance she throws at you, and find the vulnerable, talented, beautiful girl beneath, you can understand why you'd melt inside whenever that girl smiles at you.
Why she feels invisible breaths of electric warmth dance from Rachel's fingers and seer Quinn's skin with each and every touch.
It terrifies her. It thrills her. She should be worried about what she'll do when the baby gets here, but Rachel makes that worry almost non-existent. And that just makes Quinn think about Rachel all the more. No matter how much she tries to push her thoughts in a different direction, she's always there, begging to be paid attention to, much like in real life. It doesn't matter how much she tries to make those thoughts go away, Rachel is prevalent in her mind. Every millisecond of contact, Quinn is aware of. Every word Rachel says to her, Quinn listens. Like Rachel is about to give something away that Quinn wants to pounce on. Because Quinn wants so badly for Rachel to be paying the same kind of attention to her.
And that's part of the fear, too. Rejection. Having two gay dads doesn't automatically give you a license to be gay, or the ability to be okay with finding out a member of the same sex; and the girl you're living with, is maybe, probably in love with you. At least, not that Quinn has heard, but she hasn't scoured the entirety of the internet yet. She'd like to think, maybe even knows deep down, that if she ever found the courage; or became crazy enough, to tell Rachel how she feels, the diva would be understanding no matter her own feelings on the subjects.
Because sometimes it's far too much for Quinn to even dream that Rachel could return the feelings. Part of Quinn is confused as to whether or not she even wants Rachel to. It's undeniable that them being anything other than friends would complicate pretty much everything. School would be a new kind of torment, her parents would have one more reason to continue acting like she doesn't exist, Glee club would probably explode in one way or another. But on the flip side, she would have Rachel. She'd be able to stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss her and would actually be able to. Would able to run her fingers through Rachel's hair and find out if it feels as good as it smells. If her skin is as soft as it looks.
The thoughts make her light-headed, and even though she's sitting and the room is dark, she feels dizzy and it starts to spin. Her eyes close in an effort to banish the sudden influx of images, but that just makes it worse, so she opens them again and lets a sigh of her own out into the room. Sometimes fighting it is too difficult and she'll press a hand to Rachel's arm or the small of her back as she passes her, just to relieve the burning need for contact. It doesn't quite compare to what she imagines it would feel like to run her fingers through Rachel's hair, pull it aside and leave a trail of kisses along her neck, but it states the urge.
Except for times like now when it doesn't.
Quinn's hand is moving long before she has the conscious thought of telling it to, reaching across her own chest and up to the shoulder that the top of Rachel's head is level with. It's barely a touch at first. A slight, light brushing of errant hairs that are sticking up in the odd directions sleep pushes them in. She pulls in her bottom lip between her teeth, knowing she shouldn't, but she lets her hovering hand fall anyway. She doesn't care that the thought is clichéd, the brunette's hair is softer than she'd imagined. With an agonised slowness, Quinn's fingers brush away the raven locks falling to obscure Rachel's face, and she's rewarded with a sight that makes her want to laugh and release some kind of sound someone might elicit when presented with a kitten. A really cute kitten.
Rachel's face is indeed pressed against her arm, her left cheek flattened and pushing her lips into an odd position. Lips that are open just slightly, almost invitingly. But molesting a sleeping girl would make Quinn a completely different kind of person. But she doesn't see anything wrong with what she's currently doing, so she continues, not sure she could stop even if she wanted to. Rachel's hair smells and feels so good, it's like a drug. She has the fleeting thought that someone should find a way to bottle the combination, figuring they'd make a fortune.
After a few moments, almost involuntarily, Quinn's fingers sink deep into the dark tresses and a jolt of what she can only think to describe as desire shoots through her. And that's when she knows she's truly lost. The acceptance of it almost instantly lifts the delicate veil of fear she'd only seconds before had draped over her, but Quinn is conscious of the fact that it will probably return. After all, fear is inescapable. You can't run from it, only overcome, and she isn't ready to do that yet.
Rachel stirs again and Quinn's ministrations cease entirely. A tense few seconds trickle by, but eventually the petite girl sighs; and god help Quinn if she doesn't hear a note of contentment in it. She is still for a handful of minutes, waiting until she's sure that her sleeping beauty is still asleep before picking up where she left off. Trained pianist fingers dancing through Rachel's hair. And it's okay that Rachel doesn't know Quinn calls her 'hers' in private, where the ears of McKinley and people she doesn't trust or isn't ready to share this secret with can't hear.
She pulls her eyes from Rachel's face and lets them linger on their hands, atop one another on Quinn's stomach, and feels a fluttering that she thinks could maybe be the baby, but that she knows isn't.
Quinn is devastatingly thankful to have Rachel as the light in her life, and is content; for now, to hide in shadows and love in the dark.