A/N: My inner Rachel Berry just went off on one like a hyperactive squirrel, words flowing and switching tenses (I can imagine Rachel having a scrubs style monologue in her head and then getting distracted and going on tangents). This is the first time I've written something for Faberry week and also the first time I've written a one-shot in one day that I haven't spent weeks obsessively re-reading for clarity so hopefully it all makes sense and people enjoy.
Disclaimer: Usual rules apply, I don't own anything I'm just having some fun with fictional characters.
Sleepover
Holding Quinn Fabrays hand, she's holding Quinn Fabrays hand-No-, let's be accurate Quinn Fabray is holding her hand, sort of, kind of, it's a complicated issue but needless to say there is hand on hand action occurring even if Quinn in unconscious and this is not starting to sound good in her head. Deep breath . . . and ok.
So from the beginning, Quinn Fabray is in your bed, willingly(!), yes willingly. She may have tried to push everyone away with the pink hair, delinquent attitude, and smoking but Rachel Barbra Berry does not give up, know defeat, or for some reason know how to keep away from Quinn Fabray. Turning up on the other girls doorstep with a home cooked vegan lasagne, a carton of dairy free ice cream, and a selection of horror films, after hearing that Quinn was home alone for the weekend while her mother was away on some Christian(wine) retreat finally seemed to crack the girl. Well she hadn't exactly cracked so much as Quinn had moved aside to let Rachel into the house and they proceeded to eat and watch nearly an entire film in silence before Rachel hadn't been able to take it anymore and launched into a tirade about the stupidity of female characters and lack of song in the horror genre. Another equally bad horror film later and you're leaving Quinns house, you barely see her the following week at school, until Friday night when your doorbell rings and on the other side is wild pink hair holding an extra-large vegan pizza and a selection of horror musicals.
It only takes another two weeks before Quinn walks into the choir room, and while she pretends to be nonchalant, sitting at the back ignoring everyone and reading her book, you see the sparkle in her eyes when she sings and that little half smile she does when you made a perfectly timed (of course) one-line quip in response to one of the idiotic things Mr Shue had said.
Tonight had been a first. It's Friday night and Quinn had turned up on the doorstep, pizza and movies in hand, but with her old Cheerios kit bag slung over her shoulder. You obviously can't keep the confusion out of your features because Quinn shrugs and monosyllabically says.
"Sleepover."
Ok that's not actually monosyllabic but it feels like it, the two of you eat and watch films, but you don't talk, well you do, you talk a lot and Quinn listens, when Quinn says something it's short and a statement. But there's been those few occasions when she's said a lot, telling you about when her aunt died, what it's been like moving back in with her mom, how she's just re-read Northanger Abbey, and you wait for these moments when you can just see Quinn, hear her, but they are always short lived, any attempt you make to ask questions, to learn more, are just ignored.
It's after you break up with Finn (again) that you realise things may have started to change. You'd hoped that for senior year things would be better with Finn but less than three weeks into the school year and a picture of him kissing one of the Cheerios turned up on facebook and you promptly broke up with him. Its two days later, on a Wednesday evening, that you open the front door and Quinn is there, pizza and dvds in hand.
"I'm sorry."
You're confused at the abrupt greeting.
"Why-w-what are y-"
"You deserve better, better than him, you're worth more than that."
Your questions and attempts to probe what she means go unanswered as the pink haired girl simply makes herself at home, putting 'Hairspray' into the dvd player and pushing the open box of pizza towards you once you're sat on the couch. You spend the rest of the night thinking about what she said and sneaking regular sideways glances at the other girl.
But back to the handholding in bed, Quinn is asleep(?). She must be asleep, but does that mean her hand is placed over yours, willingly? Maybe Quinn is one of those sleep cuddlers or something, you don't really have a frame of reference for this. You'd quickly taught Quinn that if she was going to keep making you watch horror films she had to be prepared to be a human shield, and there had been hugs, but handholding was new and you really just want to turn your hand over so your palms are together and you can entwine your fingers and the thought of how that would feel is suddenly fascinating and consuming.
"I never knew someone could think so loudly."
If she were a cat Rachel is pretty certain she would have just lost one of her nine lives to shock, instead she's pretty sure she just jumped about two foot off the bed.
"Quinn you scared me! What are yo-, I thought you were asleep."
"You don't need to be scared."
There isn't really a response to that so you just open and close your mouth ineffectually a few times before the feel of that hand on yours draws your attention. It's just a light squeeze but it feels like every nerve ending in your body has migrated to that hand and then Quinn's thumb begins to ever so slightly move along the side of your hand.
"Is this ok?"
You're not sure how long you've been staring when she asks the question, you've been transfixed on the movement, the sensation. It only takes a nod and every digit of that pale skinned hand slowly begins an exploration of its own, over every joint, knuckle. The tiny scar on the edge of your index finger is found and repeatedly travelled like its being committed to memory, along with every tendon and vein in your hand.
There's something so warm, so relaxing about the touch and a contented sigh escapes. There's a flurry of questions in your mind about what's happening, what this is, and you're annoyed with your body for wanting to be soothed and give into sleep, but your eyes are so heavy. Fingers move to encase around yours and you manage to open your eyes enough to look at your hands together, actually holding hands now and it looks . . . right is the only word that you can think of because your brain is starting to resign itself to sleep rather than conjure synonyms. You brave a look at Quinn to find her smiling and looking calm, almost serene, and you wonder how she isn't freaking out or questioning things. Despite smiling in return there must be a myriad of questions and emotions around it as she squeezes your hand in what feels like reassurance and shuffles a few inches closer to you. The body heat that radiates from her tickles along your forearm that sits between you and it's almost a caress or being enveloped.
"Go to sleep. We'll talk in the morning."
"Promise?" You ask as you wriggle a little closer to her.
"I promise Rachel."