Authors Note: So like, lookit! I'm not dead! (By the way, you would not believe the amount of drafts I've started with those words. Legit. Let's hope I actually post this one and it doesn't sit around on my computer collecting virtual dust.)
Also: You guys should like… follow me on Instagram and Twitter. Because… well because. I feel like I have a lot of funny and witty things to say, and no one to share them with. So yeah. DO IT. I'm not even asking you to review, I'm asking you to follow me on social media.
How sad is that? Anyways, I think that's enough rambling for now.
Also, the song lyrics that I'm borrowing-without-asking are Terrible Things by Mayday Parade. Because this song is. AMAZING. And if the fic title didn't tell you that then... I dunno? Read?
Also, this was originally going to be a one shot, but I'm a fan of shorter chapters because then I can update faster and it's easier for me to edit, and I just basically have a better time with itty bitty bite sized chappies. So I broke it up.
Okay, NOW I'm done rambling. This is why I need social media.
Instagram: RedRiverValley (My pic says "Keep calm and play music" If that helps.)
Twitter: MohamedJenna
Cool.
"Mom. Mom, the stove is on fire. Mom. Mom! Fire!" Rachel snapped back to reality at the sound of Beth's yelling and darted over to the kitchen, which was filling with smoke at an alarming rate.
You leave for five seconds to check the PVR and all hell breaks loose...
"Beth! I told you to watch the stove!" Rachel yelled throwing a lid on what was supposed to be dinner, but now looked like a frying pan full of World War 3.
"I'm fourteen! What the hell do I know about cooking!" Beth shot back, helping a struggling Rachel open windows and clear smoke out of their apartment.
"A lot less than you should," Rachel muttered before going to inspect the blackened charcoal mess their stove had become. She ran a hand through her messy hair and sighed. Not even the dog would eat this.
And their dog ate everything. Even broccoli. Which was something Beth herself wouldn't even eat.
"Pizza it is for dinner then, I guess," She said, throwing away the remnants of their food.
"Sorry, I didn't know that would… ya know. Burst into flames. I didn't food actually did that."
"Well, it does, and I did. But that's a story for another day," Rachel responded, getting the phon ebook and looking up a pizza place that didn't look too dicey.
Which, for downtown New York was like… no where.
So least dicey of the dicey places.
"What do you mean you knew?! You've set the stove on fire before? And then you go and leave your poor, culinary retarded daughter to look after the food?"
Rachel paused.
"Yes, that sounds about accurate."
"Mom!"
"Well! I gave you credit you obviously didn't deserve as I thought you'd be clever enough to turn down the heat after the pan started to smoke!"
"…So when did you set food on fire before?" Beth asked, ignoring Rachel's previous statement.
"It's not important. I was making food for this guy and…. Moral of the story is, read cook book first, proceed to start cooking second."
"…Was this mystery guy my dad?" Beth asked suddenly, catching Rachel off guard.
If there was ever away to effectively and immediately change the tone of a conversation, that was it.
She paused for a second, brown eyes meeting bright green for a moment. This wasn't subject matter she was particularly keen on discussing with Beth. Not…not quite yet. Maybe when she was thirty.
Ooh, yes, that sounded like a nice plan.
"No," She answered simply, and turned to the phone book.
"Now, what kind of pizza do you want?"
"Mooooom," Beth groaned, rolling around the kitchen table and flopping down on top of it in front of Rachel. She blew a tuft of blonde hair out of her face in a fashion that was way too familiar for Rachel's liking.
"C'mooon. You never talk about my Dad."
"Beth, I adopted you when you were two. What makes you think I even knew your father?" Rachel responded, trying to deny the pouty teenage girl in front of her.
"Because you get all weird and cranky and stuff when I ask. I can't cook, but I'm not stupid."
"No, you are not stupid. But you are persistent. And cute. Which will only get you so far, like free drinks, and getting out of speeding tickets. You get that from your mother." Beth shot up off the table like she was electrocuted.
"You knew my mom? I mean, like, my real mom. Not… to say that you aren't my real mom… You know what I'm trying to say right? Can we still get pizza? I like pepperoni." Rachel blinked and tried to string together those sentences so that they made sense in her head.
Were those topics even...remotely related?
"Sometimes…you just talk so fast. Okay, I'm ordering pizza. Just…sit still Beth! Geez…"
Rachel got up and went to put in the order, leaving Beth to do... well do whatever it was Beth's do when they're left unattended in kitchens.
Watching cooking chicken, apparently not being on the list of activities...
Just forget about the topic, just forget about it Beth… You have better things to think about than mull over your parents…
Rachel really didn't think she was being inconsiderate towards Beth's wishes. She knew Beth had every right to know about her birth parents but… Rachel didn't really feel like she was ready to relive that.
Once was enough.
Besides. Puck made good on his child support. And Beth was never really that interested before…
Or maybe she just never mentioned her interest before….
Rachel shook her head and ordered the pizza.
Too much thinking was never good. It always led to things like…
Quinn.
Dammit. There. It happened. Just what she was trying to avoid.
Beth couldn't just have stirred the pot, but noooo, the oil had to burst into flames. And here they were. Thinking about the past and its sheer amount of utter suckiness.
You know. As one does.
"Mom? Are you still alive? How long does it take to order pizza? You know cell phones exist so you don't have to get up and use the wall phone. Ya know, over here in this decade."
Lord give me strength to handle with this teenage ball of irritating…
"Alright I hear ya. Pizza should be here in 20 minutes," Rachel said, walking back to the kitchen. At least the smoke had cleared.
Hurrah. One small victory for Rachel.
"So. You knew my mom?"
Dammit.
"Yeah," Rachel said clearing her throat. "I did. Quite well. Actually."
Rachel turned to inspect a particularly fascinating section of the kitchen wall.
Beth just sat there expectantly.
Rachel sighed. Ah well.
"Do you really want to hear this whole story or what?"
"Well. You just said pizza will take 20 minutes. You may proceed, mother dearest. I mean, it is a Monday night. It's not like I have much else to do."
Of course. Well then.
By the time I was your age I'd give anything,
To fall in love truly was all I could think,
That's when I met your mother, the girl of my dreams,
The most beautiful woman that I'd ever seen.
"Berry. Berry. Berry! Wake the fuck up." Rachel groaned and curled further into her pillow.
Go away, go away, go away….
"Rachel. Lord Tubbington ate some Fruit Loops and threw them up everywhere? Do you have any… I dunno. Bleach I guess? Does that work?"
Shit. Of course.
"Santana. Birttany. Why are you here. In my room. Disturbing my early morning peace?" Rachel mumbled, refusing to look at them from under the sheets. If she didn't move, and didn't look at them, maybe they'd get the hint and leave. If the powers that be were feeling particularly generous, they may even spontaneously burst into flames...
"One, its like, 1:30 in the afternoon. Two..." Santana paused, and Rachel hear the sound of feet rapidly approaching her bed.
Double shit. So much for the powers that be.
Rachel felt a chill race through her as her sheets were, very rudely she must say, ripped off of her.
"Noooooo," She moaned, curling further into herself for warmth.
Go away, go away, go away...
"Berry. Wake. Up." Santana said once more, her words punctuated and sharp. Rachel, mourning the loss of the sleep she was so enjoying just minutes previously, forced herself into a sitting position, and opened one bleary eye to fix Santana with what she hoped was the glare of demons.
Santana lookde unfazed, so Rachel figured she probably looked like a newborn sheep trying to poop for the first time.
"What?" She demanded bluntly.
"So, here's the thing. My grad party is tonight, and Brittany couldn't get the night off from work, and I don't want to go alone. So we're going to go get lunch because I'm like, starving, and then we're going to go get you some decent party clothes. Sound like a plan? Never mind, don't answer that, you don't have a choice. Don't you love the democracy in this country?"
"Uh…" Rachel blinked, a few times, still groggy.
"You talk really fast…" was all she managed to get across. She heard Santana sigh, and imagined that there was an eye roll to go along with it.
"Just…get up. Please."
Rachel yawned.
"I'm sorry? I didn't quite catch that." Rachel said, looking at Santana with a sleepy grin. Santana crossed her arms and stared at a spot on the ceiling. Which, really couldn't have been that interesting, not nearly as interesting as looking at Rachel.
At least that's what she thought.
Because, as Rachel Berry, she was pretty fucking interesting to look at.
"Please. Can you wake up please, Berry?"
"My name is Rachel, Santana."
"Don't fucking push it."
Rachel sighed, then gave in, getting up out of bed.
"Why do I even live with you?"
"Because I'm incredibly sexy, and everyone need pretty things to look at when they get up in the morning. Now go get ready, Morning Breath."
"So, like, I mean this in the nicest way possible. But Santana was a bitch. Moreso than she is now. And that's saying something, because just the other day when she came over, she said that I looked like the kind of girl that would have made 'her breasts ache with rage' when she was in high school." Beth interjected.
Rachel stared at her.
"She said that? To you?" Beth nodded sagely. Rachel blinked.
"Stay away from Santana. She's… I dunno how to respond to that. At all. She's no good for you. Now stop interrupting my story, otherwise I'm not going to tell it. Think of this as an episode of How I Met Your Mother."
"I hate that show…"
"Beth!"
"Okay, okay, proceed."
"Santana. I have perfectly fine party clothes at home," Rachel protested as she was forcibly carted behind the Latina as she traversed from store to store inside the mall. Santana snorted.
"Oh please. You have perfectly fine 'Dinner party with a bunch of boring CEO executives' clothes. You don't have any 'Fuck me right here with your eyes clothes'" Rachel opened her mouth. Then closed it. Some things are just too odd to warrant a response.
"Santana, I don't think I really want any of those kinds of clothes…" Rachel mumbled weakly, as Santana dragged her into a store that advertised selling dressed, but looked like they were selling swimsuits.
Like... of the bikini variety.
"You do. Or more so, I do. Because you can be so uptight sometimes I swear to god…" Rachel huffed.
"So, what, your solution to that is to pimp me out?"
"Yeah, basically." Rachel groaned.
"Just quit your groaning and griping and go try this on. Please. Please go try this on."
"It's amazing where manners can get you, hey Santana?" Rachel said with a wink, disappearing into the dressing rooms with the black dress Santana had handed her.
"Shut up. Just shut up and strip."
"Racheeeeel. The pizza's here and you're not even to the good part of your story. Ya think we can skip by the intro and head to the nitty gritty? Was my mom at the party? Was she outside the party? Did you accidentally hit her with your car on the way to the party? I could see you doing something like that. Your driving is kind of sketchy."
"Beth, what did I say about interrupting! And I'll just have you know that I am a fantastic driver, if a bit... distracted. Just eat your pizza. If I'm going to tell this, I'm going to do so theatrically, because I am Rachel Berry, and that is what I do. And don't call me Rachel. I like mom."
"Whatever, Rachel."
In the end, Rachel ended up with a slinky black dress that showed off way too much leg and back than what she was comfortable with, but Santana wouldn't let her wear anything else.
So, naturally, it stayed. Because Santana had evil Snix demon powers like that.
On the drive over to Santana's grad party, Rachel felt really uncomfortable. Not just by the fact that she was wearing barely enough fabric to make a pair of slippers out of, but also by the fact that this was Santana's grad party. Full of Santana's university friends and professors and all these smart people who likely didn't know anything about show business or Broadway and they would all sit around and talk about biology or something, and Rachel really didn't know anything about bio and…
"Berry, are you alright? You look like you just walked in on your dads doing it."
Rachel noticeably winced. That was SO not a good visual to put in a person's head. Ever. Especially if you're Rachel.
Especially.
"Just. A little bit nervous, is all." Rachel responded, smoothing out her dress.
"You'll be fine. I have a friend I think you'd get along fairly well with. So, when I leave you to go find something more interesting to do, you won't flail out and die."
"How very considerate of you," Rachel muttered.
"I thought so. Her name is Quinn. You'll get along fiiiiine." Rachel snorted.
"Right. Because that's likely."
"You know, I'm starting to feel like I should have brought someone else with me… Brittany's cat, for instance," Santana muttered, pulling into the parking lot and shutting off the engine.
Rachel ignored her. She was so much better company than a cat.
"Buckle up Berry," Santana said as she dragged a half resisting Rachel into the party.
Walking through the front doors, Rachel was hit with a wall of sound. It was dark, barely lit by pulsing deep blue, purple and green lights. It smelled like a distasteful mix of cheap alcohol and sweat. Something about it just didn't seem NYU sanctioned, and Rachel felt duped.
At all. To Rachel, it looked more like a rave inches from having the cops called on it.
Suddenly she really wished she was at home. And wearing more fabric.
"Uhm! This is your grad party? Hello? Santana? Are you even listening to me?" Rachel tried to get the attention of the taller girl, who wasn't even looking in her direction.
"I'm gonna go get a drink!" Santana yelled over the throbbing baseline. Rachel turned to tell her not to leave her there, but Santana had already disappeared into the throng of dancing bodies.
Dammit…
Rachel shifted around awkwardly, trying to worm her way through, but wasn't making any real progress.
I should've stayed home. Like this could realistically get any worse.
The thought had just been formed in Rachel's head when a cool wetness began to spread across her back, and she felt someone else tumble into her from the side.
Dear Life. When I said "could this get any worse?" that was not a challenge for you. It wasn't even a suggestion of a challenge.
She turned around slowly to see exactly who had deemed it an appropriate time to spill their beer all over the back of her shirt. She opened her mouth to give the said blonde a piece of her mind, and froze, as her eyes met the brightest shade of hazel she'd ever seen in her life.
Woah.
Holy shit.
Maybe being here wasn't so bad after all.
"Oops…" The blonde giggled, then screwed up her face, as if she realized this was not that funny a moment and was trying to act serious.
Or sober for that matter. It looked actually rather painful for her.
"I am soooo sorry. Oh my gosh, so sorry, I didn't think… wow. I'm really drunk…." The blonde trailed off and vainly tried to swipe some beer foam off of Rachel's now ruined outfit.
Shook out of her reverie (Those eyyyees) Rachel snapped back to attention.
"Yes. Yes you are. And that was very cold, Miss…?" Rachel paused, waiting for a name.
The blonde hiccupped.
"Fabray, my liege. Quinn Fabray," She said before dissolving into another fit of giggles, and giving a half-assed mock curtsy, like Rachel was some kind of royalty.
Of course. Of course this is Quinn. You'd get along fine, she said. It will be fun, she said.
"Uhm, I'm gonna help you get cleaned up," Quinn mumbled, grabbing Rachel's arm, and leading her to only god knew where. Rachel gasped at the light contact of Quinn's hand on her arm.
Not cool brain… so not cool. If you could function properly that's be greeaaaat. She's just a girl. With fabulous hair.
"That's rather kind of you, but I have to go find my friend…" Rachel protested weakly, not wanting to go wherever Quinn was taking her, but kind of intrigued at the same time.
Though logically it was only just a bathroom.
Rachel didn't usually entertain the notion of logic, however.
"No, I insist. If I'm gonna be a dink and spill shitty beer all over you, at least I can be a lady and help you get cleaned up after."
Well. There wasn't much to argue with that.
Plus part of Rachel suddenly drastically enjoyed looking at a soft brown hazel colour.
Pulling her through the people, the duo made it to the back wall of the club where a tiny black door was nestled into the corner, away from the bar and the majority of people.
"This is the staff bathroom," She yelled over her shoulder, "except the staff hardly use it. I come back here all the time, it's fine." They slipped through the door and Quinn flicked on the light, revealing a tiny, closet sized bathroom.
Awesome. Small, dimly lit enclosed location with a stranger while standing in a sopping wet bandana of a dress.
A part of Rachel couldn't help but suspect that this had been Santana's plan all along, The circumstances were too freaky.
"Jeez, ugh okay, I spilled a lot more of that than I realized" Quinn looked at Rachel apologetically, before rummaging through some boxes in a cupboard behind the toilet. She emerged, looking victorious, with a couple of bar towels.
"Just hold still I can get it…" Rachel looked up to see Quinn moving behind her and attempting to clean the spillage.
Rachel swallowed, not entirely comfortable with Quinn as close as she was.
Especially because of the fact that she could tell that her hair smelled like lilacs. And… well, beer. But mostly lilacs.
Lilacs were cool. Very cool indeed.
She said boy can I tell you a wonderful thing?
I can't help but notice you staring at me,
I know I shouldn't say this, but I really believe,
I can tell by your eyes that your in love with me.
Rachel flicked her eyes down, and looked at Quinn. Really looked at her, for the first time with decent lighting in a setting in which she could actually think without shitty pop music blaring out her everything.
Her blonde hair hung casually, framing her face and coming to a stop right at the crook of her neck. It was just... too perfect. She was too perfect. Her cheekbones were perfect, her lips were perfect, she was just.
People like this just shouldn't exist in real life. They make us casual folk feel insignificant.
As if sensing that she was being analyzed, Quinn darted her eyes up and made direct eye contact with Rachel, her hand paused halfway down her back. Rachel flushed, knowing that she had totally been caught staring. All of a sudden, Rachel became acutely aware of just how much of her back was revealed through that dress. She felt her cheeks flame, but didn't break eye contact for what felt like forever.
Quinn huffed, and blew a lock of hair out of her face.
"So, you know, I'm sort of psychic," Rachel blinked.
"Uhm. Sorry, like…what?"
"Yeah. I know I shouldn't say this, but I really believe, I can tell by your eyes that your in love with me," Rachel blinked again. There was no way this wasn't part of some evil Santana scheming hook-up idea. The fact that that statement rhymed perfectly seemed to be a pretty safe bet. Though, what shocked Rachel the most were the next words that came out of her mouth.
"Is that so? And, why is that Quinn?" Quinn looked at her with a funny expression she couldn't entirely place, and dropped the towel into the sink, hopping up on the countertop, and crossing her legs.
"Well, for one I was just quoting song lyrics at you. But, now that you mention it, you do have rather nice eyes…" For what apperead to be the zillionth time since meeting her a few minutes agao, Rachel was left staring at Quinn. Just staring, because that seemed like the only response her brain could come up with to attempt to counter the words that kept coming out of her mouth, like a river of cacti.
If…That similie made any sort of sense whatsoever.
Rachel felt like it didn't.
But she was gonna use it anyways, damn it.
Quinn leaned forward and swept a lock of brown hair out of Rachel's face, her fingertips lingering down the side of the brunettes face.
Rachel stopped breathing.
"Yeah..." Quinn said, cocking her head to the right.
"Just quoting a song, hey?" She said slightly breathlessly.
Well, this escalated quickly…
"Mhmm. Well. I feel like this could be the start of a beautiful relationship here," Quinn declared, hopping off the table, and moving far enough away from Rachel so that she could resume normal bodily functions. Like breathing. And thinking.
"Well. I could do worse," Rachel responded, and then realized what she just said.
So maybe thinking hadn't quite resumed.
Smooth Rachel. Very smooth.
To her surprise, Quinn burst into laughter.
"Of course you could do worse. I'm the best there is, honey." She said with a wink, and then turned around, fixing Rachel's hair, so that she looked at least slightly presentable. Like she didn't have shitty beer spilled all over it.
Of course, once my heart starts beating at a normal rate, she has to go and touch me again. For a biology major, she doesn't seem to grasp the sheer amount of chemical that's running through my brain right now. Or maybe she does… Oh shit, wait, she's talking. Focus.
"C'mon, we should probably go join the rest of the party now. Santana will be wondering if operation Berry Pluck was a success. And by how red your face is, I'd say it was." She said with a laugh and a wink.
"I knew it! I freaking knew it! Dammit Santana!" Rachel cursed. Quinn just giggled and draped her arm around Rachel, pulling her back into the club.
"Hey, don't diss Santana! Because of her, you just might get laid tonight,"
And again, for what she suspected wouldn't be the last time, Rachel had absolutely nothing to say to that.
So she just blinked, and let Quinn caryy her away to wherever she damn well pleased.
Rachel didn't particularly care.
"Ew. Mom. Gross. You could have skipped that. Actually, there are a lot of components to this story you could have skipped…" Beth sighed. Rachel fixed her daughter with a glare that was known to stop raging Broadway directors.
"You will listen to my story, child. And you shall enjoy it."
"Okay. Just please tell me Santana isn't responsible for my creation. Because as much as I know that's not biologically possible, I feel like she may have had a bigger role in it than she should have."
Rachel cocked her head and considered it for a second.
"Well. Yes. It's Santana. She does tend to sort of take over situations like that…"
"Aww, mom! That's so not cool! Can you imagine, knowing that your whole being only exists because of Santana!" Beth mocked convulsed and crashed to the floor.
Frickin' drama queen just like your frickin mother….
"Beth, get up off the floor, god knows when the last time was that I asked you to clean it and you ignored me. Besides, logically there had to be some sort of reason Santana was in your life. There's no way I'd let a loose cannon like her into your life if she didn't have some semblance of deep personal connection," Rachel justified. Beth popped her head above the kitchen table and rested it on the edge.
"That seems…. Logical. Especially since I make her breasts ache with rage…" She mumbled trailing off.
"I still can't believe she said that to you… God I need new friends. Anyways. We are finishing this story dammit."
"I thought you didn't want to tell the story," Beth mocked, sticking out her tongue, and sitting back at the table like she was almost a normal human being.
"Honey, your mommy's an actress. She wants to tell every story. Now, in the politest, most motherly way possible, sit down and shut up."
So. That's part one of... God knows how many. I don't really plan my stories. I sit down at a computer, start typing, and they sort of write themselves.
I feel like a whole lot just made sense to my readers.
OKAY. So. In the reviews, as per usual, I would like you to answer this soul bearing question:
If the cast of Glee were suddenly transported into the Hunger Games, who do you think would be the winner?
I'm excited to read these ones :3 REVIEW :)