Chapter two
January 2015
The Second Beginning, Part One
Rachel is fucking brilliant.
Quinn's found a seat near the back, even though she knows that no way would Rachel be able to see her past the stage lights even if she'd taken a place front and center.
Rachel is the lead in the winter show at NYADA, the only junior in the play, and she's-in Quinn's not-so-humble opinion-the best one up there. But it's not that, even, that has Quinn mesmerized-it's that she's Rachel Fucking Berry, and her voice is stronger than ever, and her body is all lean dancer muscle and smooth skin, and she has this presence-which, she always did, but tonight Quinn is drunk on it, and it makes her feel like a relapsing alcoholic.
Quinn isn't one for skulking, usually, but it's warranted in this case. She hasn't spoken to Rachel in almost a year; they'd both been so busy, were both so driven, that e-mails and phone calls got few and far between until they'd petered off altogether. She only found out about the show through a NYADA e-mail list she'd signed up for just after Rachel started there. And when the show announcement had come a month earlier, with Rachel's headshot right at the top, Quinn had registered it like a shock to the heart. She'd bought a ticket immediately, then lay awake half the night, anxiety-ridden and uncertain.
As the day approached, she wondered if it was the wisest thing to show up unannounced, but-well, she didn't want Rachel to tell her not to come. And anyway, she didn't even have to talk to Rachel while she was there. She could watch the show, heart thrumming, swelling, pulsing, and decide after the curtain fell if she was feeling brave enough.
But she's there now, and Rachel is fucking brilliant, and she hadn't anticipated, hadn't prepared herself, for this kind of melancholic yearning. Everything she'd ever felt for Rachel, everything she'd ever held back, sequestered, denied-it was still all right there; it hadn't so much as staled.
So when the show ends, she decides to be [tentatively] brave. She gets her coat from the coat-check and circles around to stage exit, where she again lingers in the shadows, waiting for the crowd to disperse, or for Rachel to appear, or for her heart to actually burst in her chest- whichever comes first. She leans against a tree, clutching her phone in her pocket, in case all of a sudden she needs to turn around and hunch around it for the purpose of avoiding detection.
Each time the door swings ope, her heart speeds up, and it opens a lot before everyone seems to have trickled out. Quinn waits another twenty minutes after the last person until the heaviness in her stomach tells her that Rachel must have taken a different exit. The hand around her phone relaxes, and she pulls her coat tightly around her shoulders against the chill.
As she turns onto a main street, scanning for a cab, her stomach grumbles and twists. She peers up the avenue and then down, finally spotting a yellow-lit dinner a few blocks away.
.
When she walks in and sees Rachel sitting there, alone, her gut pushes and pulls her at once. Rachel hasn't seen her yet; she can still slip away.
"Just one, dearie?" the waitress asks.
Quinn swallows, "Um, no, sorry, I-"
She darts her eyes back towards Rachel, who's seen her now. Her face shows some combination of shock and delight. She's wearing that Rachel Berry smile, though, and maybe that's what does it-maybe that's what makes Quinn brave enough to say, "I'm just meeting a friend," and motion towards Rachel.
.
When Rachel says her name, it sounds like a sigh, an unburdening. "What are you doing here?" she asks.
"Um. Well," Quinn gives Rachel a playful smile and slides into the booth, "I just came from a show up the street." She looks away, to where her hands lay clasped on the table.
Rachel is quiet, and when Quinn looks up again, her brow is furrowed. Quinn clears her throat. "It may or may not have starred one Rachel Berry," she relents.
Rachel's mouth breaks into a smile. "Oh yes? How was she?"
"Perfect," Quinn says, "If a little verbose."
Rachel tapped her shin with her foot. "Watch it, Fabray."
Quinn laughed. "No, but really, Rachel. You were wonderful."
"How did you even find out about it?"
"I have my ways," Quinn says, raising an eyebrow. That earns her another tap on the shin.
The waitress approaches: "Did you want to order something, dear?"
"Could I just have some toast? And a coffee. Please."
When she looks back at Rachel, she hasn't looked away. There's a smile playing at her lips. "You really came all this way just to see me in some stupid school play?" she says.
"It was an awfully long train ride," Quinn tells her, "I guess I don't really know what I was thinking."
Just as Rachel is looking a little affronted, Quinn drops the act and settles a hand on top of one of Rachel's on the table.
"Of course I did, Rach. I missed you. And it wasn't stupid."
Quinn pulls her hand away, just as it was beginning to warm against Rachel's, because her toast is here and she isn't sure how long is too long, in any context.
"So. How's Yale?" Rachel asks.
"Good," Quinn says, taking a bite of her toast. "Challenging, but good."
"Did you declare literary studies as your major after all?"
Quinn smiles and nods. "I did. If only I could have seen the look on Russell's face when my mother dropped that bomb."
Rachel laughs. "It's really a shame you couldn't get a picture." She curls her hands around her coffee cup. "Do you still talk to them? To him? ...Is that too much?"
Quinn falters, but, "No, it's-it's fine. I haven't spoken to Russell since just after I moved. My mother usually calls once or twice a week. She's been...extremely-surprisingly-supportive, of everything I've thrown at her." Quinn smiles and looks down. "I've had to tell her a few things this last year that I never thought I'd be ready to, but she's taken it all in stride. I mean I guess after, you know, Beth and everything, she decided not to let me go. And she hasn't." Quinn swallows. "Sorry," she says, "Too much?"
"No, Quinn," Rachel reaches for her hand and gives it a squeeze.
Quinn clears her throat. "So, Miss Berry, what's it like being a star?"
.
Rachel insists on paying for them both, slapping a hand over the bill and pulling it towards her. Quinn holds her hands up in mock surrender and watches Rachel root around in her purse.
"Where are you staying tonight?" Rachel asks, smoothing a few bills against the edge of the table.
"I was just going to catch a cab back to New Haven tonight."
Rachel stops what she's doing and looks up at Quinn. "Don't be ridiculous, that'll cost a fortune."
"I-well, yes, but I didn't make arrangements to stay, and anyway I have class tomorrow night."
"So you can stay at the loft with Kurt and I and catch the morning train It's nearly midnight. I mean, what if you get in the wrong cab and fall asleep on the way and wake up in a tub of bloody ice missing a kidney? I could never forgive myself."
.
By the time they make it to Bushwick, it's just past one. Nevertheless, Kurt's awake, propped up on the couch next to a sleeping boy, both of them flickering in the glow of the television.
"Where have you been?" he asks Rachel as she's pulling off her heels, then seems to notice that she's not alone. "Oh, sorry," he says. He points an eyebrow and his mouth curves into a deviant grin. "Didn't mean to-wait, is that Quinn?"
Quinn steps from behind Rachel and waves.
"Quinn! Oh my gosh, Rachel, where did you find this one?" he says, disentangling himself from the now-rousing boy next to him and moving to tug Quinn into an embrace.
"I found her, actually," Quinn says.
"Oh really?" Again with the eyebrow.
"Yes, Kurt," Rachel says, stumbling as she works her second heel off and reaching for Quinn's arm to catch herself. "Now if you'll excuse us, I'm exhausted from my gold star performance and Quinn has to be up early to catch the train back to New Haven. I'm sure you can find ample time to catch up at a later date."
"Fine, fine," Kurt says, pulling Quinn in for another short embrace and kissing her cheek. "If I don't see you at breakfast, we'll have to arrange a coffee date for next time you're in the city."
"Absolutely," Quinn says, smiling and pulling away. She toes off her flats and lines them up next to where Rachel's dumped her heels, then follows Rachel to her room.
.
"I have sweats, or sleep shorts, or..." Rachel trails off. Quinn is standing awkwardly near the door, still clutching her purse and looking around at her surroundings as though she's entered completely foreign territory. "Or you could just stand there all night, in those clothes?"
Quinn's eyes snap to hers. "Sorry," she says, "shorts would be great."
.
The room is dark, but Quinn's eyes adjust quickly, and she can tell that Rachel is looking at her. "Are you alright?" she asks.
Rachel nods; Quinn hears more than sees it. "Just still surprised, I guess. That you're here."
"Good surprised or bad surprised?"
"Good. Definitely good. I really did miss you."
Rachel reaches for Quinn's hand, resting on the bed between them, and interlaces their fingers.
"I really did miss you too, Rach."
.
"Quinn," she hears, "Quinnnn. Wake up. You're going to miss your train."
Rachel's voice is muddled and foggy. Quinn groans and clutches the pillow.
"I'm hardly averse to spending the morning with you, but I know how cranky you'll be once you've botched your whole day. Come on, Quinn."
Quinn cracks an eye open. Rachel's there, smiling down at her, offering her a mug of coffee. Quinn groans again, but can't keep her smile in check.
Rachel's laughing at her now. "You still take sugar in your coffee, right?"
"Rachel, you know I don't like-"
Rachel's smile gets wider. "You should have seen the look on your face," she says, offering the mug again. "Cream, no sugar."
The cup is hot, and it scalds her before she grabs the handle.
"Sorry," Rachel says, "I should have warned you. Up, sleepyhead."
