A/N: Thank you all for the lovely reviews for the last chapter! I'm sorry I haven't managed to reply to them yet - it's been a busy few days. I will do that now. :) I probably won't post chapters this closely together again, but I'm just bored tonight and you all have been so encouraging, so I felt like sharing. Thanks again! Please review if you have the chance. :)
They start getting thrown together a lot, out of nowhere. Maybe they're just hyper-aware of it because they're suddenly paying attention to each other, but they both feel really awkward when they're assigned as partners in Social Studies for a big class project. It's one thing to sit together for an hour during lunch; it's another to have to acknowledge each other's existence outside of school.
They agree to meet at Rachel's house, and as much as Quinn wants to bail (and as much as Santana has totally encouraged her to do so), she finds herself standing awkwardly on Rachel's front porch, waiting for someone to answer the door. The Berrys live in an older part of town where all the houses are squat Tudor revivals that kind of look like they were made by elves. It occurs to Quinn that they are exactly what Rachel would look like if she were a house, and she chuckles at this right as the front door swings open.
"Hello, Quinn," Rachel says, smiling serenely. "Welcome."
Quinn clears her throat to suppress her laughter. "Hey, how's it going?"
"Quite well, thank you," Rachel says daintily, stepping to the side and extending her arm into the entryway. "Please, come in."
Rachel offers to take her jacket and hang it in the closet, so Quinn sheds it and places it in Rachel's arms while she takes in the front room of the Berry home. She's never seen so many picture frames in her life. They're all of Rachel, of course, and she wonders if the diva even knows that she's living in her own personal museum. She probably does, and she probably lovesit.
Rachel leads her on a little tour, pointing out the living room and the hall restroom and the study, and they finally stop in the kitchen, where fresh baked cookies have been carefully arranged on a small platter.
"Can I get you anything to drink?" Rachel asks, walking toward the refrigerator. "We have vitamin water, orange juice with pulp, orange juice without pulp, cranberry juice, lemonade, rice milk, soy milk, almond milk, green tea, black tea, peach tea, and passion tea. And coffee, though regretfully, we don't currently have any brewing."
"Wow," Quinn mutters. "Um, do you have just…water? Regular water?"
Rachel's hand flies to her forehead. "Of course, forgive me. Do you mind if it's not bottled? We have a state of the art osmosis filter, so I assure you it's completely sanitary and much better for the environment."
"That's…yeah, Rachel, I'm sure that will be fine," Quinn says, placing her purse on the island in front her and slowly easing her way onto a barstool.
She watches with interest as Rachel walks around the kitchen, opening cabinets and reaching for things that she just trusts to be there. It occurs to Quinn as she's watching this that she Rachel hasn't used her cane at all, either. It makes sense, since this is her house and she probably mastered the layout before she could walk, but it's still interesting to watch her move around without any hesitancy.
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They're sitting on the floor, and Rachel is chattering endlessly about the preliminary research she's done for their project, but Quinn is far more interested in shoving cookies in her mouth and checking out Rachel's bedroom. It looks like any other teenager's room, really, aside from the relatively bare walls. There's a television against the wall opposite her bed with several shelves full of DVDs surrounding it, an iPod docking system, and an open laptop on a desk in the corner. There's also a video camera set up on a tripod and an elliptical, which is not exactly normal but seems par for the course where Rachel Berry is concerned. She has a weird amount of stuffed animals, which Quinn would have definitely used for blackmail a few months ago, but now she finds it strangely endearing.
Her exploration is interrupted by footsteps echoing in the hallway. Rachel hears it too, and her long-winded explanation of early hominids trails off into silence as she turns her head toward the sound.
One of Rachel's fathers, tall, dark-skinned, and clad in navy blue scrubs, appears in the doorway. "Rach, dinner's in twenty. Can you come set the…oh, you have a guest!"
"Yes, Daddy, this is Quinn. We're working on a project together."
Quinn doesn't miss the flicker of surprise on Mr. Berry's face, and she can't blame him for it, either. If Rachel has told her parents even half of the things she's gone through at the hands of Quinn, it would be justification enough to literally throw her out of their home.
"Hi, Mr. Berry," she says softly, staring intently at her fingernails.
To her surprise, the man in the doorway smiles warmly, tells her to call him Leroy, and then asks if she'll be staying for dinner.
"Oh, no, I know you didn't plan for me. Thank you, though," she says.
"Nonsense," Leroy replies with a grin. "My husband has yet master cooking for a family of three; we'll have leftovers if we invite you and half the neighborhood. You'll stay."
Quinn's eyes widen at Leroy's declaration, but it doesn't sound like he's left much room for dissent. "Well, uh, okay. I'll stay. Thank you."
"Of course. And Rachel, I'll set the table tonight; you two finish up your homework."
After another smile in Quinn's direction, he backs out of the room and back down the stairs.
"Sorry about that." Rachel ducks her head in embarrassment. "They live to entertain. You don't have to stay if you don't want to."
Quinn shrugs. "I want to."
–––––
Dinner is really nice. Quinn can't even play it cool and act like it was just okay or fine, because Rachel's dads are ridiculously kind and so much fun (Hiram must have received a quick "Quinn Fabray is upstairs, Rachel appears to be unharmed, don't freak out" talk, because he keeps hugging her), and Rachel eventually loosens up and Quinn gets a glimpse of how much fun she can be, too. At one point, she breaks out the most spot-on impression of Ms. Pillsbury, and Quinn feels dizzy from lack of oxygen by the time she manages to stop laughing and actually take a breath.
By the time the misters Berry start clearing dishes from the table, her sides aches from laughter (and eating, like, four servings of lasagna) and she feels warm all over, and kind of sleepy and really, really content; it makes her think of Christmas, and how she would collapse on her grandmother's couch after dinner, still wearing her frilly dress and stockings, and fall asleep to the sound of the adults carrying on in the other room.
It is a school night, though, so she hesitantly suggests that it's time to head home when she looks at the clock on the wall and realizes that it's nearing nine o'clock. They all agree, though none of them want to see the evening end.
Rachel offers to retrieve her purse from upstairs, and even though they argued about it for a full minute, Quinn is honestly glad that Rachel is so eager; she has no desire to climb a flight of stairs after the meal she's just eaten. It's times like this that she really thinks people just misunderstand Rachel; she's not nearly as self-absorbed and oblivious as Quinn once thought she was.
She trails behind Rachel and enters the hallway restroom, because with as often as this kid is making her go these days, she worries that she won't make the ten-minute drive without stopping.
When she heads back into the kitchen to say her goodbyes to Leroy and Hiram, she finds them assembling Tupperware containers full of leftovers and she knows they're for her. "Oh, really, that's not…"
"Don't even argue, young lady," Hiram clucks. "These are going home with you."
"I couldn't…"
"You could," Leroy counters with a smirk.
"I don't need…"
"You're staying with the Puckermans?" Hiram interjects suddenly.
"Yes…?"
"Aviva's cooking is a disgrace to Jewish mothers and gay fathers everywhere, dear. The only thing she's allowed to bring to Temple potlucks is bottles of soda. You need this."
Quinn lets out a loud laugh. "Last week, Puck and I came home from school and she was boiling a…"
A loud thump suddenly cuts Quinn off, and all three them peer into the hallway.
Rachel seems almost frozen on the spot, with her mouth hanging open in shock and her right hand cupping her nose. There is a lot of blood. The bathroom door (which opens into the hallway, due to the size of restroom, rather than out) is open and…
Shit.
Quinn left it open. Quinn did this. It's super obvious that she did this, of course, because she was the last person to use the restroom and no one else would have forgotten to shut the door, but she really wants to just start running and never, ever come back, because otherwise she's going to have to own up to this and she just can't.
Leroy is the first to move, quickly making his way down the hall and pulling Rachel close to him. He leads her into the kitchen, and Quinn takes several steps backwards when she gets a closer look at the shaken girl; bruises are already forming under her eyes and around the bridge of her nose.
Hiram goes for the first aid kit, which is thankfully stored in the laundry room, just off the kitchen. Leroy has just helped Rachel onto a stool when Hiram places the tub on the counter and begins handing him the essentials.
"You're going to be just fine," Leroy says firmly, dabbing at the blood running down his daughter's face. He barely touches the left side of her nose and she shrinks away in pain. "I have to check, Rachel."
Rachel looks tearful. "Is it broken?"
"I can't say for certain, without an x-ray," Leroy replies. Quinn doesn't miss the knowing look that he shoots Hiram. "Don't worry about it right now, peanut."
Rachel's expression is suddenly less pathetic and more peevish. "Daddy. Don't call me that."
"Sorry, darling," Leroy chuckles, smoothing Rachel's hair with his free hand. It seems to remind both him and Hiram that Quinn is there, standing in the corner and watching the aftermath of this stupid little mistake. They both turn around just in time to see her slipping out of the kitchen with tears in her eyes.
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Before the end of first period, the official story is that Rachel was such an annoying project partner that Quinn snapped and punched her in the face.
This is pretty annoying to Quinn, because she's putting forth an effort to be a better person; at the very least, she's putting for an effort to not be seen as the kind of person who assaults a blind girl.
But really, what's more bothersome than the fact that she's being accused of something so heinous is the fact that no one is really upset about it. In fact, this is the first time in months that she's been treated with even a small percentage of the respect she used to command from the student body.
Karofsky tries to give her a high-five and she feels sick to her stomach.
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At lunch, Quinn heads toward the choir room with morbid determination. She has no idea what she plans to accomplish, because it's lose-lose either way, really. If Rachel there, she's going to have to face what she did and maybe Rachel will cry or something; she doesn't know, and she's afraid to find out. If Rachel isn't there, it means she's going out of her way to distance herself from Quinn, and that sucks, because it really was an accident and she feels terrible as it is.
Still, she marches down the hallway and throws the choir room door open without any hesitation, because she's going to get it over with either way.
As always, Rachel is sitting on the floor, eating lunch with one hand and lightly running her fingers over the pages of a textbook with the other. Quinn lets out a small sigh at the sight, and she's not sure if she's relieved or frustrated.
"Hello, Quinn."
Quinn lets her backpack slide off her shoulder and onto the floor a few feet from Rachel, and then takes a seat beside her. She gets her first good look at Rachel since last night and winces. "Hey."
"If you're checking out my nose right now, it's definitely broken," Rachel says nonchalantly. "I'm not sure if it's obvious. Does it look broken?"
Quinn is slightly taken aback by the sudden question, but she does her best to answer. A large majority of her face is bruised in shades of purple and red, and her nose is at least twice its regular size. She looks terrible.
"It looks fine."
"Quinn."
"Okay, it's really bad, and Rachel, I am sosorry. You have to believe that it was an accident. I just wasn't thinking and I didn't mean…"
"Quinn, stop." Rachel reaches out until she finds Quinn's knee, and then she pats it reassuringly. "I know it was an accident. If I took offense every time someone unknowingly added an obstacle to my path, I wouldn't have time for anything else. It happens."
Quinn hangs her head morosely. "Do your dads hate me now?"
"After that? Hardly. They like you a lot, actually." Rachel says. "Really. "
Quinn smiles at this, just a little.
"I'm sorry about what people are saying," Rachel says, after a few moments of silence. "I've tried to explain the situation, but no one is really interested in what I have to say about the matter."
"It comes with the reputation. I'll live."
"Still," Rachel says. "I'm sorry."
Quinn doesn't acknowledge the apology this time, instead choosing to relax a bit in her chair and grab her lunch from the bag beside her. She can tell that Rachel has returned to her studying, and that it's probably math, because she gets this adorable frown on her face when she's trying to figure out quadratic equations.
They settle into casual conversation about Glee and their Social Studies project, but it's quickly interrupted by Rachel's cell phone vibrating against the tile floor and playing what is sure to be a Broadway classic. She reaches over and presses the speaker button, leaving it on the floor.
"Hello, daddy."
"Hey, peanut, how are you fee…"
"Daddy. Please."
"Oh, are you not…oh, I see. Hello, Quinn!"
Rachel blushes and folders her arms across her chest as Quinn lets out a laugh. "Hi, Leroy!"
"Can we plan to have you over again soon? There's half a pan of lasagna in the refrigerator with your name on it!"
"Uh, sure!" Quinn says. "That…that would be nice."
"Maybe you can come earlier next time and we can break out a few board games! I don't know if Rachel told you, but we're avid Scrabblers. Do you play?"
"Well, I mean, not regularly, but…"
Rachel clears her throat. "Daddy, I don't mean to be rude, but what is the purpose of this call? I can give you Quinn's cell phone number if you'd like to arrange a Scrabble date," she says irritably.
Leroy chuckles. "I was just calling to make sure you're feeling okay. I left some Advil with the nurse, so you can stop by her office if you think you need it."
"I'm fine for now, but I might take a dose before my next class. Thank you for checking in."
"Of course, darling. Have a wonderful day. Oh, and Quinn, I mean it; we hope to see you again soon. Start brushing up on your vocabulary, because Rachel here is a…"
"Good bye, daddy," Rachel snaps, fumbling for the End Call button. Once the call has been successfully disconnected, she quickly composes herself and coolly returns to her book, though Quinn is pretty sure she's not actually reading it.
"So, uh, peanut?" she says with a smirk.
"Don't even start." Rachel throws her head back in frustration. "They wanted to be surprised at the delivery, so they chose a silly little gender-neutral nickname for me while I was in utero and it stuck for awhile, but I hardly ever go by it."
"I think it's cute."
"Yes, well, it stopped being cute to me when I was seventeen months old."
Quinn eyes Rachel skeptically. "That seems like a very arbitrary age."
"It's when my severe peanut allergy was diagnosed," Rachel says blankly.
A laugh escapes before Quinn can suppress it, and then it's just over and she's laughing hysterically, because really, Rachel is the funniest person ever. Ever.
She looks over to Rachel and sees her staring at her (well, kind of, in Rachel's own little way) with wide eyes and an expression of terrible confusion. "I'm sorry. I feel like I've missed something here."
"Well…the peanut thing…and then you said…and…" Quinn's laughter suddenly dies in her throat. "Wait, are you actually allergic to peanuts?"
"Deathly allergic."
It's quiet for a moment, and then Rachel giggles a little, and then they're both giggling a lot; Quinn because otherwise she'll cry, and Rachel because she's realizing that she might have met her socially awkward match, and it's none other than Quinn Fabray.