A/N: Again, thank you for all the wonderful reviews. This part has a lot more dialogue. It's a bit of a change. Thank you and enjoy.
WHEN THE WORLD ENDS
She hates fundraisers because she hates performing in them. Really, she hates having to do anything live because she hates that her mistakes can't be erased and replaced with misleading perfection. Doing live television means that everyone can see her flaws and judge her incessantly for them. But, she is not so coldhearted to refuse doing a good deed out of her own dislike of being seen as imperfect.
So when she's asked to cohost a live primetime special to benefit those unfortunate enough to have suffered through a devastating natural disaster, she accepts. Her worldwide popularity gives strength to her name, and that in turn gives strength to whatever charity of the day she throws her support behind. Tonight, she's stepping out encouraging people across the country to give money towards funding relief efforts in Pakistan. She appears on stage next to her cohost and together they introduce segments previously recorded across the world.
She watches each segment intently, clearly recalling each camp she had visited and each person she had talked to in preparation for the night's events. The screen flashes to her recent encounters and she feels her eyes beginning to tear up. This is another reason why she hates fundraisers. She hates how emotional they make her.
The camera turns back to her, and she forces down her tears so that she can smile and walk around the stage to interview a few of the celebrities that have come out to support the cause. They all tell her how lovely it is to be there and how serious they think the situation is. She briefly wonders if anyone would dare say on live television that tens of thousands of people dying isn't a serious issue.
The interviews end and she releases the reigns to another host. She moves to the last row of phones and then takes a seat in a vacant chair thankful for the break. She runs her hand through her long hair and sighs.
"Don't tell me you're tired already, Fabray," Isaias, one of the celebrity volunteers calls out to her. "You've still got another hour left, Supergirl."
Her eyes glide over to him. They were in a movie together years ago. She played a cheerleader and he played a football player. Their characters had been madly in love. "I didn't even know you were here," she tells him.
He shrugs. "It was a last minute thing," he explains. "I thought maybe I'd get a chance to hang out with you afterwards."
"Really?" She asks. "Why?"
"What do you mean, why?" His blue eyes widen with faux innocence. "Can't we just hang out?"
She hasn't seen him in months, perhaps even a year. His career languishes in teen flicks and she knows he's trying to break free. "Why?" She asks him again trusting that he somehow wants to use her success to increase his own.
He doesn't get a chance to validate her theory, because one of the crew members is signaling for her to take center stage once again. She stands up and then walks to her designated place. The cameras turn to her and she's introducing the next musical performance for the night.
"Please welcome Rachel Berry performing her Broadway hit 'All Alone'," she stops reading from the prompter and turns to the stage so that she can watch the performance.
Rachel has already walked to her mark. She's standing waiting for her cue. She taps her hand against her jean clad thigh as the music starts up and within moments she's performing her rendition of a song that has become a household staple. The phones continue to ring silently in the background, but Rachel's voice captivates everyone. Several calls are left unanswered.
When the song is over, Quinn walks over to Rachel and wraps a casual arm around her waist. They kiss each other on the cheek and Quinn compliments the performance. Together, they turn back to the camera and Quinn continues to announce the next performance. The camera moves away from them and their microphones are temporarily turned off.
"I'm glad you made it," Quinn says as she pulls Rachel closer to her.
"You asked me to," Rachel replies as if that explains everything.
"Yeah," Quinn sighs. "You saved my ass, Berry. We weren't expecting a last minute cancelation."
"I have to fly back to New York tonight." Rachel leans her head against Quinn's shoulder. "Filming begins in the morning." She has just signed on to do a three episode arc on a crime show drama with the possibility to make it a permanent gig if the episodes garner enough attention.
"I could follow you back," Quinn offers. "I'll be your personal assistant."
Rachel laughs softly. "I have a personal assistant."
Quinn smirks. "Then, I'll be your personal, personal assistant."
Rachel rolls her eyes and pushes Quinn away from her. "I'm leaving tonight," she reiterates knowing that if she doesn't start building her defenses then Quinn will have her locked away and naked in a bed as soon as possible.
Quinn leans further into Rachel and bends down to whisper into the other woman's ear, "There are other flights."
Rachel pushes Quinn away again just as the camera turns back to them and a few million viewers are shown their interaction. They are both smiling and neither is fazed when they realize their antics have been caught on camera. Quinn focuses her attention back on the teleprompter and reads off whatever it is written.
The camera moves again, and all attention focuses elsewhere. Quinn is given some quick directions and she's forced to move away from Rachel so that she can fulfill her obligations as cohost. The night moves along and finally all the celebrities are brought away from the phones. They gather around to sing one final song. Rachel takes place next to Quinn and within minutes the lights are turned up and the fundraiser is over.
Quinn turns back to Rachel at the first opportunity. "So you are staying the night, yes?"
Rachel shakes her head. "I don't remember saying that."
Quinn shrugs. "Well, I don't remember hearing it," she playfully admits, "but that doesn't mean it isn't true."
"What isn't true?" Isaias asks stomping all over their private conversation.
"Nothing," Quinn answers. "Is there something you needed?"
"I want to take you out," he answers her. "The both of you," he hastily includes Rachel in his plans. "We did a wonderful thing tonight."
Quinn snorts. "You're full of shit, Isaias."
Isaias raises his left hand to cover his heart. "You wound me, Quinn Fabray."
"I don't believe we've met," Rachel cuts in, before Quinn can utter another curse. She offers her hand to the handsome man standing in front of her. "I'm Rachel Berry."
He offers what he hopes is a charming smile. "It's nice to meet you Rachel Berry. I'm Isaias Harper." He takes a hold of her hand. "I've been a fan of yours for years."
Rachel smiles pleasantly enough as she pulls her hand away from his. "Thank you."
His smile stays firmly planted. "Please give me the distinct honor of taking you out tonight."
"I have a plane to catch," Rachel steps towards Quinn, "and she's my ride."
"You two are friends?" He asks, drawing out an already deceased conversation.
"You are an idiot," Quinn mutters.
"Your words say no, but your eyes say yes," he continues more out of good humor now than from hope that he will be able to talk Quinn into going anywhere with him. "Remember, we've had intimate relations."
Rachel's eyes widen and Quinn's narrow. Rachel looks to her wife. "I'll leave you to deal with this," she says and then moves away.
"She's hot stuff, Supergirl," Isaias says as he watches Rachel's ass as she walks away. "I hear she's still single."
Quinn says nothing.
"So," Isaias turns his attention back to Quinn. "Since I doubt you're going to hook me up with your friend, I still would like to beg you to meet up with me."
Quinn's hands go to her hips. "Why?"
"Honestly?" Isaias scratches at the back of his neck. "Dream Massacre is going to win you an Oscar, and I want to ride on your coattails."
"Elaborate," Quinn demands.
Isaias's hand drops to his side. "Me and a couple of friends are trying to get a movie made, and we want you to star in it." His eyes travel over to where Rachel is waiting. "If you can manage, I think we've got a part for her, too."
Quinn's eyes follow Isaias's. Her eyes roam over her wife's body, appreciating every curve and line. "I'm not her manager. Anything you want her involved in, you have to talk to her herself."
"I'll send you the script," Isaias turns back to Quinn. "I may be an ass, but this is a good movie, Quinn."
She arches an eyebrow. "And what part will you play?"
Isaias chuckles. "None. I'm done being in front of the camera. I'm not that great at it," he self-deprecatingly admits.
She's surprised by his sudden humility. "We'll take a look at it," she offers. "But I really need to get her to an airport."
"Sure thing, Supergirl," he steps away from her.
She walks to Rachel and grabs onto the other woman's hand as she leads them out of the studio to get Rachel to her flight on time. Of course, she wishes Rachel could stay, but she's not going to ask Rachel to stick around when her wife has already made other commitments.
"I'm still mad at you for going to Pakistan," Rachel eventually admits after ten very long minutes of silence in Quinn's car.
"I know." Quinn reaches out and grabs onto Rachel's hand.
Rachel allows the contact, but turns to gaze out the window. "I'm not going to ask you if the trip was worth it, because I already know that it was." She uses her free hand to brush her hair out of her face. "But I'm still angry."
"I know." Quinn has no defense for her past actions. She had left without regard to how Rachel would feel. She had just taken off to help save some people half way across the world because someone had asked her to. She had called Rachel en route and dealt with Rachel's ire for the better part of two hours. But, when Rachel had finished yelling, she had told Quinn to be safe and to keep in contact because she'd kill Quinn herself if anything bad happened.
Quinn had kept in touch as much as possible, and upon her return Rachel had simply told her that she was glad Quinn had returned safely, and then had hung up. They hadn't spoken since, and that was almost a week ago. Quinn hadn't even been sure that Rachel would come out to perform in the fundraiser. She had just sent out a text message and had hoped for the best.
Rachel nods stiffly. "Okay." Her gaze leaves the window and her eyes turn to Quinn. "Please, pull the car over."
Quinn doesn't question Rachel's request. She takes the nearest exit off of the freeway and then pulls into a gas station and parks. Quinn looks down at their joined hands. "I'm sorry."
Rachel laughs humorlessly. "No you're not," she argues, "because if you were then you wouldn't have done it in the first place."
Quinn opens her mouth to reply, but Rachel holds up their linked hands to stop her. "Don't," Rachel warns. Her eyes roam over Quinn's body and then rest on the cross Quinn has worn around her neck since high school. "Don't," she says again less harshly this time. "Supergirl," she chuckles.
Quinn bows her head and stares down at her lap. "Everyone has been calling me that a lot lately."
"Well, you did fly across the world to help pull children out from the rubble," Rachel's eyes lift so that she can look at Quinn's troubled features.
"I took a plane," Quinn keeps her eyes on her lap. "It was…" She sighs. "I'm not a hero." Her body begins to shake, her throat tightens and she holds tighter onto Rachel's hand. "There were so many people, Rachel, we couldn't help."
Rachel eliminates the space between them. She releases Quinn's hand so that she can wrap her arms around her wife. "I know, Baby," she murmurs. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not Supergirl," Quinn brokenly confesses into Rachel's shoulder. "I'm not."
Rachel lets Quinn cry. She doesn't offer any other words, because nothing she says will be enough, and she feels guilty for not coming to Quinn sooner, but she had just been so angry…so frightened. She had never prepared herself to lose Quinn due to external circumstance. She had always just believed that if Quinn left her, then it would have been intentional.
"I love you, Quinn Fabray," Rachel whispers.
Quinn tightens the hold she has on Rachel. She hadn't really been expecting this moment. She hadn't even realized she had bottled up so much emotion that needed release, but she should have at least thought it a possibility when she saw Rachel on stage and felt a painful tightening in her chest. Rachel has always been especially talented at making Quinn emote. It has been that way ever since they were kids. Of course, when they were kids, the emotion had been more violent but it hadn't been any less intense.
"Thank you," Quinn replies through her waning tears. She feels better, though she hadn't known before that she was feeling badly. She looks at the clock on her dashboard. "We still need to get you to the airport."
Rachel pulls back and then wipes away Quinn's remaining tears. "There are other flights."
NOT NEW YORK, NOT LOS ANGELES
"I need to catch the next flight to Ohio," she told the clerk at the counter. "First class, preferably."
The man stared at her for a moment before blinking a couple of times and then looked down to the computer screen in front of him. "We have a connecting flight to Dayton that leaves in an hour," he states.
"It'll get me close enough, so please hurry and book my ticket." She looked around her, briefly wondering who in the crowd might recognize her.
"Will you need return itinerary?" The man asked as he typed away on his keyboard.
Quinn waved off the offer. "I'll deal with that later."
"Okay, well I'll need some…"
"Here," Quinn interrupted him. She handed over her ID and a credit card.
"Thank you, Ms. Fabray." He continued typing. A few moments later, her ticket is printed and she's sprinted towards security happy that she's carrying nothing but a duffel bag. She wasn't in the mood to deal with long security checks in which she's chosen for random screening.
She slowly meandered to the gate and then takes a seat waiting for her flight to board. She pulled out her phone and before thinking better of it typed out a quick text message and then sent it off. Within moments her phone vibrates signaling an incoming call.
"Hello?" She answered.
"What do you mean you're not coming?" Rachel's voice carried over the phone. "I thought we weren't doing this, this time."
"Shove off it, Berry," Quinn replied irritated. "I just can't make it, okay."
"No, Quinn," Rachel's irritation was very clear, "not okay. We haven't been married long enough for you to already start breaking your promises."
"Rachel," Quinn leaned further back in her chair, "I'm going to Lima."
There's extended silence before Rachel inevitably asked, "Why?"
"My fucking father had a fucking heart attack." Quinn confessed. "I'll fly to New York once I leave Lima."
"Your father…" Rachel sounded uncertain. "Is he okay?"
"I've been told he's alive." Quinn closed her eyes.
"D-do you want…" Rachel's words trailed off.
"No," Quinn didn't need Rachel to complete her sentence. "It'll be fine. I know you've got your shows so don't worry about it."
Quinn looked around, and noticed that all of her fellow passengers were moving to begin boarding. "I've got to go. I'll call in a couple of days and let you know for sure when I'll be in New York."
"Let me now if you need anything, Quinn."
"Okay," Quinn muttered and then hung up. She hadn't really wanted to talk to Rachel; she didn't really feel like talking to anyone. She hadn't been back to Lima since she had left it right after high school. She hardly even had any contact with her family, and she preferred it that way. Ever since her parents had expelled her from their home when they found out she was pregnant at sixteen, things just hadn't managed to be mended.
Her parents had gotten a divorce and her father had tried to gain forgiveness, but his version of an apology came in the form of monetary compensation and not affection. Quinn accepted his money and had used it to run off to college. He had sent an apology check every month up until she finally told him that she could support herself and that she didn't have time to finish college because she was too busy running off to be a movie star.
He hadn't been happy with her life choice, but she had grown accustomed to disappointing him. Just as she was sure he had gotten used to disappointing her. Their mutual disappointment was their common ground. They gave up on winning each other's affection past the occasional life update, and had existed as father and daughter in mostly name only.
She skipped out on holidays, birthdays, anything really that should have mattered. She even avoided going to her mother's wedding when she had finally remarried. Quinn had sent a present. It wasn't the most thoughtful gift since it was only a card stuffed with a check, but since the check had been cashed Quinn considered the gift to be better than nothing.
When her father had remarried, Quinn had given the same gift that she had given her mother. Her father hadn't cashed her check, but she hadn't thought that he would. He was too prideful to take money from her, or maybe he had just been unwilling to accept anything that might make him indebted to her. Quinn honestly didn't know, and hadn't cared enough to ask, just like she hadn't cared enough to go back to Lima.
She sighed and then opened her eyes, but apparently it didn't matter that she didn't want to go to Lima, she was going to go. It was going to pull her back. So, she gathered up her bag and then pushed herself onto the plane. She sat in a trance throughout her flight, not wanting to put any effort into thinking about what would happen when her plane landed. She stayed in the haze even after her flight arrived. She kept it going and only broke it when she arrived at the hospital and was directed to her father's room.
She stood outside of the door not quite able to push herself to go inside. The medical staff had told her that her father would need surgery, but that he was currently stable, and then they had inappropriately asked for her autograph. Apparently, she was a big deal in Lima, Ohio since everyone there thought she considered it to be her hometown.
The door swung open and a young woman came walking out. She stopped when she noticed Quinn lingering. "You must be Quinn," the woman announced.
"And you must be my father's wife," Quinn replied.
"Lisa," the woman introduced herself. "I'm glad your mother could get a hold of you. I didn't have your number."
"Yeah, I'm glad, too," Quinn replied sarcastically. "Is he awake?"
Lisa shook her head. "No, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind you waking him up."
Quinn raised a brow. "I think I'll pass."
Lisa nodded as if she understood, but Quinn could tell that the woman didn't understand anything. "Well, if you don't have anywhere to stay you could stay at the house," she kindly offered. "That's where your sister is staying with her husband."
"Thanks, but I really don't think that will be necessary." Quinn was in no way interested in a family reunion. She looked away and peered down the empty hallways. "I should see my mom."
"We'll all be here in the morning," Lisa plastered on a false smile. "We'll see you then?"
Quinn shrugged. "Maybe," she said and then turned around. She walked away without saying goodbye and then hurried out of the hospital. She knew her father's wife was younger than him, but she hadn't really expected Lisa to maybe only be ten years her senior give or take a couple of years.
Quinn pulled out her phone and then looked down at it. She had several missed calls, but she only paid attention to the one she missed from Rachel. She stared at her phone for a few minutes debating whether she wanted to call her wife—it was still so weird to even think that—back or not. Quinn was almost certain that calling her wife back was the appropriate thing to do; it was what healthy married couples did.
"Quinn?" A familiar voice called out from behind her. She jumped at the unexpected intrusion and dropped her phone. It smashed into the ground and broke into several little pieces. "Damn it," she muttered.
"I'm sorry," the intruder apologized. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"Don't worry about it," she sighed as she bent down to pick up the remains of her phone. "How are you doing, Brittany?"
"Good," Brittany walked. "My shift just ended."
Quinn looked over at her high school friend. "I didn't know you worked here."
"How could you?" Brittany asked confused.
"I couldn't," Quinn answered. "So," she stood back up, the broken pieces in her hand, "you're a nurse?"
"No," Brittany shakes her head, "Physical therapist."
"That's great, Brittany," Quinn did her best to smile as happily as she could.
"Why are you here?" Brittany bluntly inquired.
Quinn looked back at the building she had been standing outside of the last fifteen minutes. "My dad," she eventually answers. "He had a heart attack or something."
"Is he okay?"
Quinn ran her hands through her hair. "He's peachy."
"I don't like hospitals," Brittany airily confessed.
Quinn narrowed her eyes. "You work in a hospital," she needlessly pointed out.
"Do you want to get a drink?" Brittany offered. "It makes dealing with the hospital easier."
In Brittany World, Quinn realized, this conversation made perfect sense. "I'd love a drink."
Quinn stuffed her broken phone into her purse and then let Brittany lead her away. They ended up in a bar Quinn had snuck into as a teenager. It had been one of the places that didn't care too much about appropriate identification. As Quinn looked around at the other patrons, she realized the place hadn't changed at all. Under-aged kids still hung out there, with drinks in their hands. The same jukebox played the same old songs. The same alcoholics loitered around coveting their drinks in the same darkened corners.
Quinn shook her head and then reached down to pick up her beer bottle. She hated Lima thought as she took a long swig of her beer.
"Why are you here?" Brittany asked again, as Quinn lowered her bottle.
"I told you," Quinn pushed away her empty bottle hoping the waitress would know to bring her another, "my dad."
"But you never came back before."
"What do you mean?" Quinn looked away. Her eyes raked across the other patrons. Most of them she knew, there were only a few that she didn't.
"You didn't come when Santana married Puck," Brittany began to tick off. "You didn't come when Finn returned from the army or when Mr. Shue invited us all back for a reunion, you didn't when Santana had her baby, you…"
"I get it," Quinn interrupted. "I haven't been around much."
"You haven't been around at all."
"Fine," Quinn turned back to face Brittany, "I haven't been around at all."
"Your dad didn't die, so why are you here?"
The waitress came with another beer in hand. She smiled down at Quinn as she handed Quinn the new bottle. "You're Quinn Fabray, right?"
Quinn looked over the woman standing in front of her. She looked familiar, though she couldn't quite place from where. "Do I know you?"
"Only if you want to," the woman replied, and then turned to tend to another table.
Quinn watched the woman walk away, her eyes traced over the waitress's body. Maybe, she silently admitted to herself, Lima had changed a little.
"She likes money," Brittany said, her eyes focused on her brightly colored drink.
"You think she just wants me for my money?" Quinn asked, as she brought her fresh beer bottle to her lips.
Brittany nodded.
Quinn continued to watch the waitress move around the bar. She was feeling tempted. It had been a while since she had fulfilled any of her carnal desires and she was beginning to feel the frustration from the denial of release.
She sighed, and then turned back to Brittany. "Can I borrow your phone?"
Brittany immediately reached to her purse and then pulled out her cell. She handed it over to Quinn and then turned her attention back to her drink.
Quinn quickly dialed a number from memory and waited.
"Brittany?" The voice greeted uncertainly.
"Try again," Quinn quietly quipped.
"Quinn!" Rachel's uncertainty turned quickly to anger. "What's going on? Why are you using Brittany's phone."
"I killed mine," she admitted. "I'm going to have to find a store and replace it."
"How's your dad?" Rachel's voice settled.
"I'm sorry, Sweetie," Quinn apologized. "I shouldn't be here."
"W-what?" Rachel didn't understand. "Of course you should be there. Your father isn't well."
"But I don't care." Quinn shrugged. "It was just easier to come here than to go there."
There was a long moment of silence and then Rachel admitted a soft, "Oh."
For reasons Quinn couldn't even begin to understand her eyes began to tear up. "I'm sorry."
"Where are you?"
Quinn takes a look around. "The Waiting Room."
"So you are at the hospital?" Rachel sounded relieved.
"I was, but I'm actually at a bar called The Waiting Room," Quinn shamefully admitted. "It's across the street from the hospital."
"Fine," Rachel sighed. "I'm on my way."
"What?" Quinn shrieked. "Where are you?"
"I've been pacing outside of the hospital for the last thirty minutes trying to figure out how to approach you after you clearly sounded like you didn't want me around," Rachel hurriedly explained.
"So you're in Lima?" Quinn couldn't believe how excited she felt at the prospect.
"Yes, I'm in Lima," Rachel calmly exclaimed and then hung up.
Quinn looked at the phone, and then handed it back to Brittany. "Thanks."
Brittany shoved her phone back into her purse. "So you settled everything?"
"No," Quinn stood up. She reached inside her pocket and pulled out whatever cash she had and then threw it onto the table. "I've got to meet up with somebody."
She hoped to catch Rachel before an argument began in the middle of the bar. "Thanks for the drinks, Brittany. Are you going to get home okay?"
"Santana's coming. It's our night together." Brittany commented.
Quinn opened her mouth to ask Brittany what she meant, but quickly thought better of it. She didn't have time to delve into the intimate lives of her former best friends. "Okay," she said instead. "Have a good night."
Quinn walked to the exit and stepped out of the bar just as Rachel was stepping in. They stared at one another for a moment, and then Rachel walked away fully expecting Quinn to follow. Quinn took in a deep breath and slowly released it as she traced Rachel's footsteps.
Rachel didn't stop walking until they were properly hidden away in the back alley of the bar. "Speak," she ordered as Quinn came to a stop behind her.
"Can I kiss you first?" Quinn stepped closer.
"Absolutely not," Rachel replied incredulous.
Quinn ignored her. She reached out her arms and forced Rachel into them. Rachel's body stiffened in Quinn's hold but quickly relaxed and succumbed to the crazy good endorphins that flooded over her when she was near Quinn. "I really don't know even if I should be upset with you," Rachel confessed as she wrapped her arms around Quinn's body.
"You probably should," Quinn kissed Rachel's forehead.
"But your father really is in the hospital," Rachel slackened their embrace. "You should be here for him."
"That boat has already sailed and lowered its anchor somewhere around 'Not Gonna Happen'." Quinn kept her voice neutral. She wasn't ready to have a conversation about how much her relationship with her father still left her unbalanced.
"At the risk of stating the obvious Psych 101 here," Rachel pulled back so that she could look into Quinn's eyes, "your inability to properly emote about your relationship with your father has a direct correlation to your interactions with me."
"Really? And here I thought, my paralyzing fear at realizing I'm married to you is what was effecting my interactions with you."
"Your sarcasm, while I understand is a defense mechanism, is not appreciated." Rachel forced herself out of Quinn's hold. It would have been a perfect time for either one of them to mention annulment, but they both kept silent.
They honored their commitments and pushed through even when it might have been best to bail out.
"So if I do this thing with my family," Quinn reached out for Rachel again, not quite able to talk herself into allowing any distance between them, "does that mean you're going to stick around for it?"
"I'm your wife Quinn Fabray," Rachel settled back into Quinn's arms. "I will be here for you in whatever capacity you need me to be."
Quinn closed her eyes. Tears started to drift down her cheeks and as she felt them fall she tried to remember the last time she had cried, but she couldn't conjure up the memory. She was Quinn Fabray, and Quinn Fabray didn't cry. She didn't feel sorry for herself and certainly didn't succumb to emotional weakness. Quinn Fabray was a warrior. Hell, Quinn Fabray was Supergirl…and Rachel Berry was her Kryptonite.
"Thank you," Quinn murmured as she held tightly onto her wife of two weeks.
They stayed wrapped around each other already having recognized that physical distance did not work in their favor. Distance gave them time to think, and question and build up old defenses that had long protected them from the pain of being vulnerable to another human being.
"Let's go see your father," Rachel whispered.
Quinn thought of about ten million reasons why going back to the hospital was a bad idea, but she didn't voice any of them. She let Rachel take her back to the hospital and let her lead her to her father's bedside. He was still sleep, but his sleep didn't look peaceful. He looked as if his dreams were torturing him. She thought about waking him up, saving him from whatever nightmares he was stuck in, but she didn't really want to save him from his terrors.
She just stood and looked at his weakened body.
"You do realize," Rachel kept her voice low, "that the only reason why you think you feel so coldly towards your father is because you in actuality feel so much, perhaps, even too much to handle."
Quinn snorted. "Yeah, I know."
"Then, might I also point out that I feel incredibly honored that you have chosen to no longer act so coldly towards me."
Quinn swept her head around so that she could look at the woman standing behind her. "What are you saying, Berry?"
Rachel's eyes shifted to Quinn's father and then quickly back to Quinn. "I'm saying that," she paused so that she could swallow down her nerves, "you married me. You offered us a conclusion before we even really had a beginning, and chose to offer us forever. You didn't choose indifference; you didn't act like you didn't care."
Quinn was set to disagree because she knew that she had chosen to be indifferent and coldhearted towards Rachel for years. She hadn't given them a chance at anything. But, Rachel wouldn't let her disagree. "No, Quinn, when the right moment came you didn't turn away."
The 'right moment'? Quinn didn't know what that meant. Every moment seemed like the wrong one. Even this one seemed to be highly inappropriate if she considered the fact that they carried on the conversation in her father's hospital room. None of it seemed right. None of it felt right.
"You ever think, Berry, that I gave us a death sentence?"
Rachel shook her head. "No, not at all," she honestly replied.
Quinn looked to her father. His body was motionless; his face was still contorted in pain. She hated to admit it, but she was his daughter, created and molded in his image. In thirty years she suspected that she'd be tied down by her misery and denied any restful sleep. She'd descend into the ranks of the people who couldn't ever love anyone.
Quinn looked back to Rachel, her Kryptonite, her wife, the crazy girl who she had known for most of her life. "I love you, Rachel Berry."
It was the first time she had ever said it. They were doing their whole relationship backwards. Marriage first, then came love, eventually they'd even manage to date.
Rachel released a huge sigh of relief. She hadn't been completely confident which side of Quinn would emerge from their conversation. She had been leading by instinct and had hoped that when it was over she wasn't back in New York alone. She had come to Lima selfishly. While she would do anything necessary to help Quinn with her father, she was more determined to make certain that Quinn was not abandoning her.
Every day Rachel prepared herself for when Quinn would finally decide that their relationship was over. In her mind, this was inevitable: one day Quinn would wake up and realize that she was married to Rachel Berry and everything would suddenly be over. Poof. Gone.
"I love you, too, Quinn." But in that moment, nothing was going to disappear. Quinn was standing right there with her, and Rachel wouldn't let her go away. They didn't have to be in New York, nor did they have to be in Los Angeles. As long as they were together, they could continue to create these insane moments of wonderful.
