AN: So this one grew into a three-shot. Thanks a lot for the reviews, the alerts and the favorites. They motivate me a great deal, especially when I get to read your insights. For those people who commented about how much their saddened by the story, I forgot to mention that ANGST is my choice of genre. I can't promise much when we reach the series' conclusion, but I assure you that there's some light at the end of this dark tunnel =)
There are moments when she considers the possibility of her entire life being nothing but a dream. Because you don't wake up hang –over and sore, next to your ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend, and barely two weeks after said ex-boyfriend dumped you. Because there's no way sixteen year-old Rachel Berry would ever see this happening in the future. Or at least, she'd never thought of having a blonde's pale, slender arm possessively clutching her bare waist; or the steady breathing of one Quinn Fabray against her neck, slightly tickling the little hairs at her nape.
None of this can actually be true, can it? Or maybe she's just bad at being twenty and on her own, which is why she's here, and got everything mixed up.
Yet her mind's lucid enough to recognize that the yellow bedroom walls doesn't belong to her, or that frat guy she fucked the night Finn left her for good. Her mind starts to wander towards the inevitable. She just had sex with Quinn Fabray, and while it's too early to consider what it means for her or their friendship, she can't help but recall the way Quinn looks at her, or tries not to be too forceful when she's right between the blonde's legs—
Fuck, it's impossible to think clearly in this bed. Rachel untangles herself from the warm body sleeping soundly, carefully lifting the blonde's lithe arm. She opens Quinn's drawer and borrows a Yale jersey that is significantly too large for her size, it hangs a little over three inches above her knee. The living room's a rumble of red plastic cups Quinn never seems to run out of.
Looking around, she notices a couple of photographs plastered messily on the wall. She barely recognizes the faces smiling back at her. All of a sudden, it dawns to Rachel that she doesn't really know who Quinn has become. What kind of friends does she have? Is she in any school organization? Where does she usually hang out?
Perhaps she'll ask Quinn when she wakes up.
Maybe it can alleviate the nagging feeling that somehow, Rachel's using her the way Finn did with her before. And she doesn't deny the truth that she allow it back then, the way Quinn's letting her do so now. But it figures that's just the way things work sometimes.
Their breakup before this one, Rachel's folding their photos together in half, listening to Bon Iver, while her dads make sure they won't run out of vegan ice cream in the house.
But so far, she's unexpectedly doing well, and trying to have a busy schedule is never a problem for Rachel. She lives up to the expectation that New York City never sleeps. So, she has tons of activities lined up every week— yoga classes she never has to pay for due to some privileged friends, boxing on Thursdays, rehearsals for a major project...
And then on weekends, she gets plenty of sex with Quinn Fabray.
She takes the blonde to breakfast afterwards, somewhere nearby, just along the street of her building. Rachel can't really tell whether she does it out of a desire to give, or cheap gratitude. To her relief, she easily forgets this dilemma, when Quinn chirps happily at the sight of buttered toast and bacon.
And for each moment with Quinn, Rachel pushes Finn further and further into some part of her mind she'll lock away forever.
"Do you think you'll ever forgive me?"
It takes a few seconds for Rachel to respond, striving to let her attention remain on her "Essentials of Music Theory" reading. "Forgive you for what?"
"For tormenting you for two years, calling you names, throwing every insult I could think of—" Quinn's sentence is cut off when Rachel closes her textbook soundly. Then she walks over to the bed, where Quinn is lying idly on her back, quietly staring at the ceiling.
Her eyes travel all over Quinn's body and she thinks, yes. In fact, she already has.
"I thought we're done with this a long time ago." Rachel responds solemnly.
Quinn gathers her in her arms, and they've been doing this for a while, that it's easy to let her self be engulfed in the blonde's embrace.
"Please answer the question." Quinn mumbles into her hair.
"There's nothing to forgive, Quinn." Rachel sighs, slightly pulling away from Quinn's touch, but the blonde tightens her grip.
"I'm sorry," Quinn says abruptly, sensing Rachel's discomposure on the topic at hand. "It's just hard for me to accept it sometimes. I don't understand why you can forgive me so easily when I can't even forgive myself."
"But it's not just that, is it?"
Quinn shakes her head and looks away. "Sometimes I wonder if some part of you blames me for what happened between you and—and him."
"Quinn, you didn't do anything…"
"Directly. But a few years back, if that accident didn't happen—"
Rachel squeezes her eyes shut at the memory. "Stop. Leave that part out. What are you trying to say with all of this?"
"I know you never got over that guilt. And it's an awful thing to carry around, Rach. I can't bear to think you're still trying to make up for what happened by being with me."
"Well…" Rachel flips on to her other side, facing Quinn. "First of all, you're not that bad to have around."
Quinn's finely-arched brows crease into a frown. "That isn't a very satisfying remark…"
Rachel laughs softly. "Second, you're not very good at being cute, so really, I'd feel bad if you don't have someone just because you have an ugly pout—"
Quinn pulls her into a searing kiss, drowning out her words effectively.
"—and you're really good at that." Then her shirt's being lifted over her head, and cold pale hands starts pulling down her shorts. Quinn's kisses are hard and wet. Rachel focuses on forgetting everything else, and concentrates every swipe of her friend's tongue against her aching clit.
And every time, this is how she punishes and forgives Quinn Fabray. Every time, this is how she deals with her guilt.
"What the hell are you doing with Q?" It's Santana, and it's been nearly two years since she had last spoken to anyone from the glee club who isn't Quinn.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Santana."
They're alone in the table. Quinn and Brittany have wandered off to find an ATM machine, because Quinn insists on paying for their dinner tonight. Over the course of time, she's met a lot of Santanas and she's learned to deal with them, to pull their strings with just the right amount of pressure.
"Don't play dumb with me, Berry. You might have Quinn fooled, but I see how you look at her, and it isn't anywhere as near as how you look at Finn during high school."
"It's been two years. You hardly know me."
"That's true. But some things never change, you know."
"Yes they do. Take human skin, for example. Whenever we wash our hands, we actually wash the dead cells off, so that it gets replaced by new cells."
"Oh fuck you, Berry. Don't get smart with me."
Rachel smiles thinly, making it a point to look at the former Cheerio directly in the eyes as she says, "Or maybe you're right because clearly, you're still a bitch and you can't seem to mind your own business."
"Q is my friend, therefore she's my business. I'm just looking out for her."
They're best friends, sort of. Hardly lovers, because she's yet to feel something click into place. "Quinn and I are involved." Rachel states plainly. It's the only one that feels true.
"Is that what they're calling it nowadays? 'Involved'?"
"You can ask Quinn if you want. I'm not answering anymore of your childish questions for your satisfaction."
A silent conflict hovers both of them—Santana, continuing her reprimands with a death glare, and Rachel, overthrowing the other girl with her jeering lack of interest on the matter.
"You guys are looking way too serious right now." Brittany appears behind Santana with Quinn following behind her.
"Rach, are you okay?" Quinn asks, moving to stand beside the brunette, bringing a hand to cup Rachel's neck, feeling her temperature.
Rachel nods. "Yeah, I'm just feeling a bit under the weather."
"You better tighten up that scarf around your neck, Berry, you don't want to catch a flu." Santana chimes in. Quinn casts a curious glance between the, wondering what just happened during the fifteen minutes they were gone.
"Can we go home?" Rachel says.
"Already?" Brittany chimes in, obviously disappointment.
"Yeah, Britt, I'm sorry." Rachel says, eyes not leaving Santana. Quinn considers Rachel's scant control over her tone of voice, mouthing, "What the fuck did you do?" to Santana when their partners aren't looking.
Rachel gets up, and wraps her arms around the dancer, and says, "It's nice seeing you, Britt. But I still hope you can do better next time."
Brittany gives her an odd look, but Rachel doesn't see it. Instead, she looks out for the flash of concern that graces Santana's features, right before throwing an arm around Quinn's waist and turns to leave.
A harmless-looking white envelope arrives in her mailbox one day. Rachel tears it open, and it's anything but harmless.
"Baby?" She hears Quinn whisper, staring at her with a worried expression as if she's bleeding to death or magically losing her nose. Most days, she wears Quinn's comfort like a warm, safety blanket. But it becomes too overwhelming to handle, and she feels her ears heating up—
"Jesus, Quinn, I'm fine!" She doesn't mean to yell. But Quinn flinches like she's been slapped hard right across her face, before nodding dejectedly and heading towards the bedroom without another word. Rachel doesn't run after her and she figures Quinn needs to get the hell away from her right now.
Because Finn Hudson is getting married, and Rachel's should be permitted to be angry, and not sorry for the remaining part of the day. Because Finn is still a poison, slowly working its way into her lungs and each minute, it's getting harder and harder to breathe. Because being separated from him was supposed to be a temporary thing, and at the back of Rachel's mind, she's always been assured that in the end it's still going to be the two of them. Together.
It's much later— after she's certain that Quinn's asleep—when she sends her response, purposely missing to check plus one.
Avoiding Quinn is easier than catching a cold at this time of the year in New York. Rachel has every excuse under her belt, all of them having something to do with school or spending wanting to spend more time with her dads through Skype. Quinn keeps on a cheery attitude over the phone, over countless rejections.
It's not like she has a choice anyway.
Still, in an effort to maintain the status quo, Rachel finally asks Quinn to come over. They spend the night, and she cooks Quinn her favorite meal for dinner.
In the morning she has her bags packed by the door. Quinn emerges from Rachel's bedroom, hair unbelievably messy from last night. She groggily glances at Rachel, then at the suitcases, and then at Rachel again.
She waits for Quinn to wake up completely before jumping into a well practiced speech. "Listen, I won't be home for a few days…"
And as expected, Quinn is very understanding. She swallows every lie that comes with a charming smile and a sweet peck on the lips.
It's all Rachel can give Quinn anyway.
The next day, Rachel buys a ticket to California, even though she doesn't exactly know what she wants to happen when she gets there.
Finn Hudson is extremely handsome in a tuxedo, is the first thought that enters Rachel's mind. Her red-rimmed eyes, obscured by a thick dark shades.
Upon landing, Rachel's come up with a plan to talk to Finn, and maybe ask him why he sent that invitation. Why he can't just get married without letting her know. She's so inclined to the idea that maybe Finn's holding out until the last minute. Besides, he's known to change his mind when it's almost too late.
Except, Rachel wasn't expecting to see him look so different. He looks sharper, his shoulder are broader, and there's a glint in his eyes Rachel's never seen before.
Which is why she retreats to the background, and decides to watch the whole ceremony from a proper distance. But even now that all is said and done, all Rachel could think of right at the moment is that it should've been her. Maybe Finn's right all along that she is to blame for the downward spiral of their relationship and eventually, its bitter end.
Everyone in the plane tries not to notice, as she cries relentlessly throughout the flight back home.
The airport definitely looks a lot bigger than she remembers. Or maybe it's because she feels smaller and a lot more alone. Just ten minutes after she stepped into the arrival area, she sees a flash of short blonde hair— which she'd last seen more than two years ago.
Maybe it's because she just misses Quinn, or she's suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that she currently has no one else in her life, that makes her jump into the blonde's waiting arms and kiss her on the mouth. For several seconds there's just the hard press of plump limps against yearning ones, lithe arms clinging to a pale neck. One of Quinn's hand goes to her waist, while the other grabs on her thigh, and then she's being lifted a several inches from the ground. The kiss deepens with Quinn's tongue prying her mouth open, begging Rachel to let her in.
She has no choice but to succumb to her plea, and allows Quinn entrance. It's different from the kisses they've shared in the past. Because this one finally counts.
"I love you..." She can't say how much, or to what degree, but she knows it's true. Quinn's eyes light up in response, and with a shaky breath says,
"Thank you."
"You chopped your hair."
"Yeah."
"You missed it, huh?"
"I did. Brings back some of my favorite memories."
"Oh? Like what?"
Quinn recalls breezily, "Like graduation day. Watching you wearing a toga, which was way too large for your head. But you didn't care even if you had to push it back every few seconds. I've never seen you look so happy. I remember you giving that remarkable speech, there were tears in your voice that made more than half of the people bawl. I think I even saw Sue Sylvester reached for a box of tissue. You were that great."
Rachel nods like she remembers too, but no, much of her high school memories' starting to blur. Especially the ones with Finn Hudson in them.
"Rach?"
"Hmm?"
"I need to ask you something and—" Quinn swallows with difficulty. "And as much as it terrifies me, I just have to know."
Rachel has to put a hand on her arm to stop the blonde from shaking. "Okay."
"What are you doing with me?" Quinn voice slightly falters and Rachel's never seen her look so vulnerable. "I mean, what should I expect from this? Or am I even allowed to expect?"
"Earlier, I believe I said back something that bears the reason why we're here right now. Isn't that enough to—"
"You did. But we never really talked about it, so no, it's not enough. Come on, Rach, can you really define anything with only three words?"
"Of course I can." Rachel says complacently. "We are together. I'm with you. You're with me. See? I even came up with three sets of—"
"Rachel." Quinn looks on, and Rachel can't quite tell if it's the beginning of the end.
But after several seconds of nothing, Quinn only sighs and wraps her fingers around one of Rachel's wrists, pulling.
"Come here."
She waits for the day Quinn discovers how empty their kisses are, and how this relationship's built on needs and wants that never quite matched. She waits for the day Quinn won't appear at her doorstep, looking like the prettiest girl Rachel's ever met, smiling down at her adoringly.
But most of all, Rachel waits for Quinn to come to her when a lonely week ends because she doesn't feel so disconnected from herself when she's with Quinn.