AN: So I just wanted to give a group thank you to all that have read and reviewed. I usually try to respond individually but I have been terribly lax since I have been focusing on getting the writing done on this.
I have most of this written now, and it will be 7 parts. So we are about half way there. I am hoping to get the rest of it posted by the end of the week, so this one will definitely be finished, the joys of short fics.
Part 4
I don't deal well with ultimatums, never have, and never will. If you back me in to a corner I am going to come out swinging, and I will be trying to inflict as much damage as I possibly can. Incapacitate the enemy before they can land a blow. It was the philosophy I lived by in high school, and it worked for the most part. Well until I got pregnant; it's hard to land killing blows, even metaphorical ones, when you are sporting a baby bump as big as a beach ball.
I had reigned in the killer instinct a bit over the years, but I could always feel it brewing just under the surface, just looking for an excuse to burst free. My first instinct upon hearing Rachel tell me to either go, or that she would, was to tell her to get the fuck out. After all I'm the one that paid the majority of the bills.
She had gotten work in shows off and on, but nothing consistent. I never wanted to burden her with working a crap part time job, just to earn money we didn't really need. I made a decent living; nothing extravagant, but enough to support us while she pursued her dream of Broadway.
My parents had wielded money like a whip and never hesitated to use it keep me in line. It was a tactic I knew well. So while I'm not proud of it, it was the first thing that popped into my head when Rachel told me to get out of my own damn apartment.
It's been a week since I had that argument with Rachel, and all I can say is Santana's couch is really fucking uncomfortable.
My first instinct may have been to eviscerate, but it was still Rachel. I loved that girl more than anything and luckily something kept me from saying something I could never take back. Doing that once was more than enough. Instead I had packed myself a bag, and headed over to Santana's for what I thought would be a day, two tops. A week later, with almost no meaningful contact, I was beginning to revise my assessment.
"So just how long do you plan on staying here anyway? Usually if I let a chick stay the night she's providing me with some incentive to let her stay." In a world that has suddenly shifted violently under me, at least I could always count on Santana to think about sex; first, last, and always.
"Are you propositioning me?" There was something comforting about being able to joke with my old friend, even while my life was possibly falling apart around me.
Santana barks out a laugh. "You wish blondie. The last thing I need is any angry pygmy tracking me down cuz I finally tapped her girlfriend's ass." Eloquent as always. The mention of Rachel must have caused my expression to darken because Santana let out an aggrieved sigh. The only person I knew that hated emotionally charged situations more than me was Santana; this had to be absolute torture for her. Not that it was exactly a walk in the park for me.
"Why don't you just call her already? This is stupid. I mean you know you are welcome to stay, but you really are cramping my style here." A fact for which I was deeply appreciative. When I realized that Santana was really the only viable option I had to crash with on such short notice I had feared that I would be subjected to an endless parade of Santana's women. Thankfully she had managed to keep it in her pants, so far at least.
"I have Santana, she won't talk to me." I had called Rachel daily at the start of the week, believing that if I just apologized enough she would finally accept, and let me come home. Each call had been short, and fruitless. I had stopped calling by Thursday. She was at least still taking my calls, and I didn't want to end that by harassing her when she clearly didn't want to talk to me.
Every conversation played out the same way. She would answer, I would apologize, she would sigh, clearly disappointed, and insist that I didn't need to apologize, and then she would ask if I had figured it out yet. Of course I hadn't. That would be too easy.
"Well why don't you drag your lazy ass over there and talk to her in person so she can't hang up on you."
"Because that went so well last time; you weren't there Santana. Believe me being there in person won't solve a damn thing if we just end up embroiled in another shouting match." I still cringe when I think of that night. It got so far out of hand, so quickly. I couldn't take a repeat of that. I would rather avoid having the conversation that I knew had to happen, than to rush into it and end up saying or doing something that would irreparably fracture us.
"So you still haven't figured out why you're such a jackass?"
"Do you think if I had I will still be here enjoying your lovely company." I had tried, I really had, but no matter how hard I beat my head against the wall I just couldn't knock loose what it was that had set me down this path to exile on Santana's lumpy sofa.
I was happy with Rachel, probably happier then I had ever been. We rarely fought; I still found most of her quirks adorable (though Santana has assured me on numerous occasions that they are just fucking annoying). My job was stable, nothing overly exciting, but it paid the bills and I was relatively content.
Rachel was on the cusp of finally making it big. By any objective measure I should be on top of the world. Our lives were happy, secure, and Rachel was finally achieving the recognition she had worked her whole life for. But instead of happiness I felt this nagging sense of…urgency?...discontent?...entrapment?...regret? I still didn't know. I just knew that something was casting an unwelcome gloom over my thoughts, preventing me from being fully happy and content with my life. And until I figured out what it was I was stuck on Santana's sofa.
"Well I still think you need to go over there, even if you don't talk to her you can at least get some clothes. You're beginning to fester." I wanted to argue, but Santana wasn't wrong. My week had consisted of going to work, and then coming home and hunkering down on her couch. Uncomfortable though it was I had nowhere else to be. No longer having Rachel to take care of had left me adrift.
"What if she's there?" As much as I had called Rachel early in the week, eager to talk about this situation between us, as the week had passed I had grown more trepidatious. When I had first left I thought I would be able to just wait her out and smooth things over. It was now clear that she was not going to let me back home until I had a real answer for her.
Since I was still lacking that key insight, I was nervous about actually bumping into her. I didn't want her to think I wasn't trying, or taking this separation seriously. It was just about killing me to be apart from her, especially since her show was getting closer to opening. Now that they had cast the secondary characters it wouldn't be long. I feared that she was going to lose herself in her work and forget to take proper care of herself.
"Jesus Christ Fabray pull up your big girl panties and just go over there. What's the worst that could happen?" Famous last words.
As the cab pulled to a stop in front of my building I quickly tossed some money at the cab driver and scrambled out. In retrospect I probably should have walked the 10 blocks across town and used the opportunity to clear my head and settle my nerves. Instead I had opted for a cab, afraid that if I went on foot I would change my mind and turn back. As soon as I had settled into the cab however I knew it was a mistake. The small space seemed to close in on me, every sound and smell magnified, and I had struggled not to throw up the entire ride. I was nervous as hell, and nerves always hit me straight in the stomach.
I glanced at my watch; 10 a.m. If this were a normal Sunday, Rachel and I would be lounging in bed, simply enjoying each other's company, or perhaps getting ready to head out to brunch. This was anything but a normal Sunday however, and I was both hoping and dreading running into Rachel.
Logically I knew that I still wasn't ready to have the needed conversation with Rachel, but I just missed her so badly, and even if it was fleeting, the idea of just seeing her again caused my pulse to pick up. Rachel and I had not really spent any significant time apart since I had made the move from New Haven. There had never been a reason to.
Okay, enough stalling, I can't just stand out here on the sidewalk all day staring up at my building like some insane stalker. Marshaling my reserves I strode toward the front door, desperately trying to project a sense of confidence I in no way felt. Our building was nice, but not extravagant enough to warrant a doorman, so I was spared the experience of having to think of a plausible excuse for my absence the past week to give a kindly door keep. I shook my head at myself; I had clearly spent too much time with Rachel watching classic romantic comedies if these were the thoughts rushing through my head right now.
I eyed the elevator in the lobby; Rachel and I lived on the 7th floor, and while I would occasionally take the stairs, it was generally the elevator. I walked past it and headed for the stairwell. After my experience in the cab the last thing I wanted was to be confined in a small, likely odd smelling, space. Plus now that I was here I seemed to be in no rush to actually get to my apartment. Besides after a week of hiding out on Santana's sofa the exercise couldn't hurt.
I take my time on the stairs, no need to rush, and if I do happen to bump into Rachel the last thing I want is to be a sweaty panting mess. That look was only good in certain scenarios, and this was most definitely not one of them. I can only walk so slowly though and before I am entirely ready I arrive at the fire door marked with a large painted seven.
I take a deep breath and wipe my suddenly sweaty palms on my pants before I push through the door. Our apartment is down the hallway and around the corner from the stair way entrance, and as I make the walk I try to brainstorm possibly conversation starters if Rachel does happen to be home.
'Rachel, hi, how have you been?' Simple, classic, to the point.
'Oh, Rachel, I didn't expect you to be here, do you mind if I come in?' Play it cool, don't act too interested.
'Rachel, I'm sorry. Please let me come home. It didn't mean anything.' When in doubt, stick with the plan, even if the plan didn't seem to be working.
Jesus if this is the best I have I better pray that she is not at home or I'm doomed. As I am about to round the corner I slow my steps, my ears picking up the sound of voices. Normally I wouldn't mind bumping into a neighbor in the hallways, but this was not just any voice, I would know that voice anywhere. Rachel.
Like a pathetic creeper I push up tightly to the wall and try to peer around the corner without getting caught. The last thing I needed was for Rachel to spot me and think I had been lurking in the hallways spying on her for the last week. Luckily she was facing slightly away from me, and her attention was fully focused on the person she was talking with.
I frown as I take in the scene before me. Rachel is standing in the doorway of our apartment, dressed in nothing but her robe. It's her fluffy terry cloth robe, and not the satin dressing gown, but still. It's Rachel, in nothing but a robe, talking to some chick that I do not recognize. It's clear from how they are standing, half in and half out of the apartment, Rachel with her hand resting on the door knob, that they are in the process of saying goodbye.
Both Rachel and her companion have the rumpled, slightly hazy look, of someone that has just woken up. I have a clear view of Rachel's "friend" and I feel a stab jealousy lance through me as I take in her appearance. Pale, creamy skin, a tumbled mess of auburn curls, I couldn't make her eyes out at this distance but I just knew they would be some amazing shade of vibrant green. She was tall, trim, and was basically a walking sex goddess. I fucking hated her.
I dig my fingers into the wall, whether to hold myself up or to prevent myself from storming over there and scratching her eyes out I'm not entirely sure. Rachel laughs at something the redhead says, causing my stomach to drop. It is full-bodied and happy, something I haven't heard from Rachel in over two weeks.
The redhead reaches out and brushes her hand along Rachel's arm, her hand squeezing Rachel's briefly before letting go.
"Thank you so much for last night, I had no idea how much I needed that." Rachel's voice finally reaches me, cutting through the loud buzzing in my ears. "I have been bottling up so much since Quinn left." I didn't 'leave', she fucking kicked me out! Good to know that she still remembers my name though. "Last night really helped me relieve a lot of tension I didn't even know I was holding."
.Fuck. I most definitely did not like the sound of that. Rachel should not be "releasing tension" with anyone but me goddamnit. What the fuck did that even mean? I mean I'm not stupid, I know what this looks like. Rachel, scantily clad and looking rumpled. Gorgeous redhead, looking equally rumpled and seemingly unable to keep her hands off my fucking girlfriend. Rachel would never cheat on me though. I was sure of it. Really.
"I was glad to help. Anytime you need another session just give me a call." UGH, even her fucking voice was incredible. I wonder if she would sound so incredible if my hands were wrapped around her slender throat. I strained my eyes, desperate to see if there were any hickeys marring that perfect alabaster flesh. Unfortunately the distance was just too great, and even squinting I couldn't make out any detail.
"Thanks. You were a true life saver. Hopefully now I can focus properly and rehearsals won't be so tense and unbearable."
Son of a bitch. It was one of her co-stars. One of the people that she had been out partying with while I had been at home worrying myself sick over what I had done to upset her. A horrible thought struck me and I pulled away from the corner and sagged back, resting against the wall. Suddenly I wasn't so sure about anything anymore.
Maybe it had never been about what I said. Perhaps she had just been looking for an excuse to pull away. She certainly hadn't wasted any time after I was gone I thought with a sneer. Well fuck this. I was Quinn Fabray damnit, no one made a fool out of me. Not even Rachel Berry. I was going give her a piece of my mind. I would march over there and let her know that I was on to her game. I was going to….oh fuck.
I dash desperately down the hallway, my stomach flipping violently. I know it is only a matter of seconds before I empty the contents of all over the hallway. I glance desperately around, looking for any alternative.
Salvation! I rush over and wrench open the garbage shoot, making it just in time as the meager contents of my stomach make a second, and unwelcome appearance. After a few more violent spasms my stomach finally settles and I close the shoot with a thud. I wipe a shaky hand across my mouth and sag against the wall; my legs feel watery and weak.
"Hello?" Rachel's voice now rings out clearly in the hallway, which means she must be heading in my direction. I could really do without Rachel and her compassionate nature right now. Of course if she heard someone being violently ill in the hallway she would never just leave them alone, she would be compelled to see if they were alright.
I glance from the corner where she was bound to appear very soon, to the fire door.
Fight or flight.
