IV
Rachel manages to shower, brush her teeth with the toothbrush she keeps at Quinn's place and locate some of her own clothes from some time in the past before Quinn gets back.
Rachel is in the kitchen sipping coffee and nibbling on a slice of avocado toast when she hears Quinn arrive, and she immediately tenses, because she still doesn't really remember what happened last night. She can't even recall why Frankie would even be texting her.
She didn't even see him, did she?
She thinks she's prepared for Quinn but, the second the blonde moves into sight, she realises she's not. She hasn't seen that expression on that pretty face in some years, and she's immediately thrown by the anger on display.
"You're up," Quinn simply says, moving towards the fridge to deposit some leftover something from wherever she probably had brunch with Santana.
"Hi," is all Rachel can manage.
Quinn closes the fridge door, and then shifts to the opposite side of the kitchen. The hardness of her features is in such contrast with her pale yellow dress and white cardigan, and Rachel visibly tenses when she braces herself against the counter and folds her arms across her chest.
Rachel takes a sip of her steaming coffee.
"How are you feeling?" Quinn asks.
Rachel audibly swallows. "Uh, I don't feel as if I'm dying," she says. "Thank you for the Advil. And the breakfast."
Quinn says nothing.
Rachel can't handle the silence. "Quinn, I'm sorry."
Quinn arches an eyebrow. "And, what exactly are you sorry for?"
It's the tone of voice, Rachel thinks, that sets every one of her nerve endings on edge. She hasn't heard it directed at her in such a long time. "I - I don't know," Rachel says, because she honestly doesn't. "But, I get the feeling something bad happened and I should be apologising."
"Something bad," Quinn echoes, her eyes narrowing. "What's the last thing you remember?"
And, the thing is, Rachel has been trying. Desperately, almost, but she just can't remember much of anything. "Uh," she starts; "probably until we arrived at the second bar. When, umm, the others showed up."
"The others," Quinn says. "As in Giovanni, Pedro, Dana and Alessia?"
Rachel twitches at the sound of the last name, and an image of Quinn dancing with the woman flashes in her mind. She shifts uncomfortably, and some things start clicking into place. Santana was mightily unhelpful with providing details, and she's not even going to attempt to talk to Kurt before all of this gets sorted out with Quinn.
"Is that when things started to get foggy in your recollection of events?" Quinn asks, her tone razor sharp.
"I - I think so."
"Oh, good, then this all makes much more fucking sense," she says and, okay, she's definitely at some other level of angry. "Firstly, I don't even know where you get off pulling stunts like that. If you have a problem, you come to me and we talk about it. I thought that was this new feature of our friendship, Rachel, but it seems I'm mistaken."
Rachel knows now is not the time to ask questions, even though she's seriously confused.
"Perhaps it's my own fault," Quinn says. "We should have discussed exclusivity before we embarked on whatever this is but, God, Rachel, what the fuck were you thinking?"
She doesn't know.
She honestly doesn't know.
"You called Frankie and Jasmine to join us when you knew I was hitting it off with Alessia," Quinn accuses, and Rachel shrinks back, frowning. "Colour me surprised when I'm in the middle of the dance floor with a woman who isn't my girlfriend and I spot the familiar faces of two of your cast mates in the crowd, and I have to drop and roll before they spot me with my hands on some other woman's ass."
Rachel resists the urge to cringe at the image.
"And, you invited them," Quinn says, almost growling. "And, then, you were too drunk to hold it together enough to help me save face, because, right now, Alessia thinks I'm the kind of bitch who dances suggestively with her while 'my girl' just sits and watches, utterly heartbroken."
Rachel's eyes widen.
"Yes!" Quinn hisses. "I don't know where in your drunken mind you decided I was really yours, but now I'm some kind of dirty player in Alessia's eyes, and I actually kind of liked her." Quinn's voice catches slightly, and Rachel feels an ache bloom in her chest at the sound of those words. She can't be sure if it's because Quinn is hurt by her actions or if it's because of her quiet confession.
Perhaps it's both.
Whichever one, it hurts Rachel too, and she's unsure what to say in response.
"Quinn - " she starts.
Quinn just raises a hand to silence her. "I really don't want to deal with what you have to say right now," she says, and there's no room for arguing. "Particularly when you don't even know what you did. God, Rach, I've never been so humiliated in my entire life. I know I've cheated in relationships before, but I'm not like that anymore. I'm secure with myself, and I'm happy, and you made me look like some kind of vicious user, and now Alessia probably hates me, and I'm sure your friends think I hate them."
Rachel has to look away, because the anger is slowly dissipating from Quinn's eyes, only to be replaced by hurt and confusion. Rachel can't handle seeing it, and it's even worse because she's the cause of it.
Quinn clears her throat, seemingly gathering herself, and then levels Rachel with such a glare that the brunette feels it in her very bones. "You don't get to do that to me," she says. "If this thing is going to work; if our friendship is supposed to survive the aftermath of this pretend relationship, then you don't get to do things that are going to make my life difficult when you decide this is over."
Rachel's heart skips several traitorous beats, and she can't be sure exactly why. She doesn't want it to be over. Ever.
"For now, I don't want to see you," Quinn says. "I know we spend Sundays together, but I think we need some time apart or I'm really going to end up saying something I'll regret." She clenches her jaw, and it looks as if it hurts. "I'm sure you're capable of seeing yourself out," she says, and then walks out of the kitchen without looking back.
Rachel quietly finishes her coffee and toast, washes her dishes, dries and replaces them, and then she gathers her things and leaves.
Even though every part of her is screaming for her not to.
"So, you did a thing."
Rachel barely even registers Santana's words as she makes her way further into the Latina's bedroom and climbs onto the bed beside her, curling up and facing her.
It's not as if Santana was going to be able to get any sleep, anyway.
"I did a thing," Rachel says miserably, tears already pooling in her eyes. "How - how bad was it?"
"On a scale of one to ten?"
"Mmhmm."
"Fifteen."
Rachel closes her eyes. "Oh, God."
"It was fine at first, I guess," Santana says. "Quinn kind of resigned herself to the fact she wouldn't be getting it on with Alessia last night, but that didn't immediately rule out any other night. No, that didn't happen until you got drunk enough to start regaling stories to your theatre pals about how happy Quinn makes you and how you always feel so safe, but now she doesn't seem to want you anymore. And, then, at some point, you started yelling at Alessia to leave your girl alone, and that Quinn is yours and she doesn't stand a chance."
Rachel buries her face in a pillow, groaning.
"And then Quinn was put between a rock and a hard place, because she couldn't exactly explain the situation to Alessia with your peeps sitting right there, and she also looked like a right tool to them because you gave the impression that her eyes were straying."
At this point, Rachel can't stop her tears.
"So, yeah, it was bad," Santana concludes. "Also, Kurt and Blaine are fucking confused."
Rachel just silently cries into Santana's pillow, her headache and her heartache adding to the torment. "She must hate me."
"No, she doesn't," Santana says, used to her roommate's dramatics. "She's just confused. As am I, to be honest. What exactly were you thinking?"
"I don't think I was," Rachel admits.
"Were you feeling left out or something?" she asks. "Because that's eating into me a little bit. Quinn's always felt a bit guilty about it as well, and Kurt mentioned that you were looking a little down."
It would be so easy to say yes.
All she has to do is agree with Santana's theory, but the two of them don't lie to each other, so Rachel says nothing.
"That's Quinn's theory, anyway," Santana says. "I have another one entirely."
"Which is?"
"You just like the attention." It isn't said with any affection, which makes it sound like an insult.
And, possibly, the truth.
"How did I end up at Quinn's place?" Rachel asks, sidestepping Santana's theory.
"Well, when we were leaving, you were kind of… hanging off of her. Everyone was around, and she couldn't exactly peel you off, so she took you to her place. I don't know what happened after that, but she texted to say you both made it home, and that you were out for the count."
Rachel breathes out slowly. "I don't remember any of it."
"Maybe it's a good thing," Santana says sympathetically, reaching over to pat Rachel's hand in an action that's slowly seeped into their odd relationship. "Why don't you try to get some sleep," she suggests. "You can do damage control when you're feeling better."
Damage control involves sending about fourteen apology texts to Quinn and receiving one reply of not now, Rachel.
It involves calling Kurt and scheduling a lunch date on Tuesday, so she can attempt to stumble through a suitable explanation for her ridiculous behaviour.
And it includes a coffee date with Frankie before they have to be at the theatre for rehearsals the next day.
Rachel's hangover is largely gone, but she had a restless sleep and Quinn still isn't replying to her properly - this morning's text received a good morning back, but that's it - and Rachel is anxious and slightly irritable.
Rachel cuts straight to the chase once she and Frankie are seated. "We were fighting," she starts. "It was… a bad one."
Frankie just nods, silently inviting her to continue.
"I, uh, get clingy when I drink too much," she explains; "and I get paranoid."
"Ah," he sounds; "that explains you threatening to chop that other woman's hair off if she so much as looked at Quinn again."
Rachel's mouth drops open. "I said that?"
Frankie looks slightly amused. "Oh, yes," he says. "Your threats were very… colourful."
Rachel sips at her coffee, frowning slightly at the still-hot liquid. "Quinn isn't too happy with me," she says, almost whispering.
"Still?"
"It's only Monday," Rachel says weakly. "I think there's more to it than she's telling me, but I'm not sure how to get her to talk about it without us getting into another argument."
"Well, I don't know Quinn too well, but she seems like the type that needs a bit of time and space to make sense of things, and then she'll talk," he suggests, trying to be helpful. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. It's obvious she loves you."
Rachel can't bring herself to respond to that, because all she wants is to yell Is it?
Frankie watches her carefully. "You do know that, right?" he questions, sensing hesitance on her part.
Rachel audibly swallows, unsure how she's supposed to have this conversation when there are none of those feelings involved in her relationship with Quinn.
Obviously, they care about each other.
Rachel feels deep affection for Quinn, maybe even loves her the way she would a friend. That's all it is, and she really doesn't need the added confusion of the potential of something else.
"Oh, Rachel," Frankie says. "That woman is head over heels for you."
And, okay, there's no possible way Frankie could know that. "Be serious," she finds herself saying. "You've only met her twice."
"I wouldn't even have to know who she is to know the truth of it," Frankie says. "If you could just see the way she looks at you. People spend their entire lives waiting for someone to look at them the way Quinn looks at you."
"And, how does Quinn look at me?"
"Like you're the sun," he answers, barely missing a beat. "Like, there isn't a person in this world who could possibly shine brighter than you, and that's definitely something to behold, Rachel Berry."
Rachel wants to tell him he's wrong. Quinn doesn't look at her like that. She can't, because none of this is real.
But the words don't come because, on some level, her subconscious can accept some truth to it. There is something very specific in Quinn's gaze that Rachel's never quite been able to figure out, and she wonders if this is it.
No.
It's impossible.
It has to be.
Rachel: Quinn, I get that you're probably still mad at me, and you're also probably sick of all my apologies, so I decided to attempt to make it up to you.
Rachel: Firstly, Frankie and Jasmine adore you. Don't worry about them, okay? I used my extensive imagination and said I was drunk and emotional and projecting, and you're actually the best girlfriend I could ever ask for. (Provided we're still doing that. I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted to call it quits.)
Rachel: Also, I asked Santana for Alessia's number. I called her and explained MOST of the situation to her (I'm sorry, but I still have my fledgling career to protect.) She was confused at first, but she was quite receptive to the truth. (You're apparently a great friend for doing this for me.) She likes you and, if you actually like her, then I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you called.
Rachel: I promise I'll be more careful with my alcohol from now on - I might even stop entirely. I'm sorry I hurt you, Quinn. I still don't remember much of anything, but thank you for taking care of me.
Rachel: Can I treat you to lunch some time this week? (If you've forgiven me, that is.) I really miss you.
"You asked her to do what?"
Rachel casts a quick look around them to be sure nobody else seems to have heard Kurt's exclaim. "Calm yourself," she admonishes. "We're in public."
"Oh, I'm sorry, did your best friend just tell you she asked her former nemesis to enter a fake relationship with her to convince her production team that she's a lesbian?"
"Keep your voice down, Kurt," she hisses. "What is wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with me," he echoes incredulously. "Do you have any idea how insane you sound? Why would you ever ask that of Quinn?"
Rachel blinks. "What?"
"God, you're an idiot."
Rachel frowns. "What are you even talking about?"
Kurt forces himself to take deep, calming breaths. He's far too young for all the stress his friends put him through. Honestly, he's starting to go grey, he's sure of it. "Rachel, honey, what in heaven's name possessed you to think this was a good idea?"
Rachel has no answer for that, so she doesn't even bother.
"What did Quinn even say?"
Rachel relaxes slightly. "Well, she was apprehensive at first," she explains. "She asked to think about it, and then she eventually said she couldn't do it, and then we encountered Megan - the one I'm constantly complaining about - and then Quinn went all Head Bitch on her, and maybe called me her girlfriend, and here we are."
Rachel is aware she's blushing a little too late, and Kurt quirks an eyebrow in question.
"It's much better to witness the HBIC than be on the receiving end of it," is all she says in response.
Kurt presses his lips together for a moment. "So, she said no?"
"Yip."
"And then yes?"
Rachel nods.
"And then?"
"Then we went to a cast party together, and she was amazing."
Kurt hums. "Yes, Sweetie, Quinn is the bee's knees, but what happened after that?"
Rachel drops her gaze. "Well, I may have said something untoward, and she reacted poorly, and then we made up again. Then we all went out on Saturday, and Hell descended on Rachel Berry in the form of vodka."
Kurt chuckles. "You really should learn to control yourself."
Rachel sighs. "I don't really know what was going on with me."
Kurt eyes her critically. "Oh, I think you do."
And, okay, maybe, just maybe, Rachel has an idea, but it doesn't mean anything. It's not real. She's merely seeing what she wants to see, and she's not about to stand in the way if Quinn is going to find happiness elsewhere.
"Rachel?" Kurt's voice is soft, soothing. "Sweetheart, are you okay?"
"I don't think so," she confesses. "I don't think I'm ready to deal with all of… that, right now. I just want Quinn to talk to me again. I - I miss her, and it's so stupid because I literally see her all the time, you know?"
"Do you?"
Rachel blinks. "What?"
"How often do you see Quinn?"
"At least once, maybe twice, a week," she says. "We spend Sundays together."
"Every Sunday?"
Rachel thinks back. "I think I've missed a few, but yes."
"Just the two of you?"
"Santana is usually there." She frowns. "What are you getting at, Kurt?"
"Nothing," he says, but he makes a mental note to check in with his blonde friend. He can't imagine any of this has been easy for her and, based on the way Rachel is falling apart at the seams, he has a feeling it's going to get worse before it gets better.
If it ever does.
"What do I do?" Rachel asks, and she just barely stops herself from actually whining.
Kurt sighs, absently lifting his glass of water to his mouth. He takes a small sip, trying to buy himself time. He's the last person who should be giving advice on women, but he's willing to try. "It's Quinn," he says; "so you should just give her some space and let her come to you when she's ready." He pauses. "But, you already know that, so what are you really asking me?"
Rachel is silent for a long moment, absently pushing a slice of cucumber across her plate. She finds that she doesn't quite like anything she orders to eat when she's not with Quinn. "Kurt?"
"Rachel?"
"What if… what if I do?"
Kurt raises his eyebrows. "What if you do what?"
She lets out a long breath. "What if… what if I don't want it to be fake? What if I want it to be real?"
Kurt's stomach does a flip because ohmygod ohmygod. He maintains his composure outwardly, but his mind is exploding with so many possibilities. "Well, if that is the case," he says; "for starters, you're definitely going about it all wrong."
Quinn finally texts Rachel back Wednesday morning when she arrives at her office at campus. Admittedly, she's still smarting from the weekend's events, but she misses Rachel, and she thinks they've both stewed enough.
Quinn did end up calling Alessia, just to apologise again and explain further the borderline messed up situation. It was obvious from the tone of the woman's voice that she was still interested, but Quinn doesn't feel comfortable pursuing anything at this moment. She wants to see how everything plays out with Rachel, and then reevaluate.
Chances are, she's going to end up with a broken heart, but then she'll know for sure, right?
Or, something.
Quinn: You're clogging up my message inbox, you know. Apple called to complain. Please stop apologising. I heard you the first forty times.
Quinn: Thank you for calling Alessia and explaining things. I really appreciate it, and it's nice to know she doesn't actually hate me, regardless of what I decide in the future.
Quinn: It's also nice to know your friends don't hate me, either. That would make this Sunday awkward. We're still on, Rachel. I made a commitment to you, and I intend to follow through, but I do think we need to talk before then. I have time for lunch tomorrow? Does that work for you?
Quinn: You're forgiven, and I miss you too. Xx
It isn't a surprise to Quinn when a string of replies arrives merely a minute later.
After dealing with Rachel and making tentative plans for lunch at a mutual favourite restaurant of theirs, Quinn next has to deal with Kurt.
His texts are slightly accusatory because she left him out of the loop and, really, what was she thinking agreeing to something like this?
Quinn thinks he's been spending too much time with Santana, even though she knows it's not true. Santana is too busy with school, and Kurt is buried under mountains of fabric and sequins.
Quinn chuckles to herself as she starts forming a reply for her surprising friend. They have an… odd relationship. Like with Santana, they can be incredibly snarky towards each other, compliments disguised as insults and a certain understanding that sometimes makes other jealous.
Particularly Rachel.
And, well, sometimes Blaine.
Quinn: Don't get your pretty boy knickers in a twist, Hummel. I'm fine. I think.
Quinn: I assume you talked to Rachel?
She doesn't get a reply. Instead, her phone starts to ring, and she lets out a slight groan because she hasn't even had time to have her coffee yet and she's expected in class in twenty minutes.
"Hello," she answers anyway.
"Oh, Rachel and I talked, all right," is his greeting. "How are you, really?"
"I'm pretty exhausted," she confesses. "My supervisor has me making some final edits on my last chapters, and I'm honestly freaking out about what happens when it's done."
"Does that mean we get to read it soon?"
"I'm afraid you'll get to read it when the rest of the world gets to read it," she says. "No special previews for you."
"Bummer."
"How are you?"
"No complaints," he says. "I mean, no actual complaints. It's more First World problems, and those don't really count. It shouldn't matter that the coffee sucks here and someone keeps stealing my lunch."
"Aww, poor baby."
"Oh, I can practically feel your sympathy."
"At least you can feel something," Quinn quips; "and there I was thinking you were soulless."
"Bitch."
"I miss you, K."
"We should do lunch," he says. "Tomorrow?"
"Can't," she says, grimacing. "Friday?"
"Can't."
"Fuck."
He chuckles. "Why don't Blaine and I come for dinner at your place Friday night?"
"Who do you think you are just inviting yourself over?"
He clears his throat. "I am His Royal Highness Prince Kurt Alexander Hummel, Duke of Vogue, and - "
"Okay, okay," she interrupts with a laugh. "Be at my place by seven," she says. "And bring the wine."
"No, no, I'm bringing the eye candy."
"Just bring the fucking wine, Your Majesty."
Rachel throws her arms around Quinn the second she sees her, almost knocking the blonde completely off balance.
The only reason Quinn manages to stay upright is because of the wall behind her, but her shoulder blade is probably going to bruise from the impact.
"Rachel," Quinn squeaks, the breath leaving her body.
"I'm sorry," Rachel mumbles, her face buried in the crook of Quinn's neck. "I'm so sorry."
Quinn resigns herself to her fate and just wraps her own arms around Rachel's body, squeezing her tightly. She's really missed her, and that longing feeling seems only to be growing the more time they spend together.
Or apart.
Just, time, really.
Quinn definitely isn't doing herself any favours.
Rachel holds onto Quinn for long, long seconds, but neither of them seems to care that there's a server standing right there, waiting to show them to their table.
Quinn just offers him a sheepish smile, and he smiles back, silently allowing them to have their moment.
"Rachel," Quinn eventually says. "I'm starving."
The brunette chuckles wetly, and Quinn's eyes widen in alarm.
"Please don't cry," she says. "No, no tears, Berry. What the hell?"
Rachel pulls back, wiping at her eyes. "I'm just so relieved to see you," she says. "How are you?"
Quinn just reaches for her hand and turns to their server. "Sorry about that," she says politely. "We're ready for our table now." She has to drag Rachel along behind her, their fingers linked as they maneuver through the tables.
Once they're seated, Quinn orders them some water, and then settles in to study her menu, even though she already knows what she's going to be ordering for the both of them.
Which is why Rachel doesn't even bother with her own menu. She just sits across from Quinn and stares. Unabashedly. Guiltlessly.
Quinn flushes under her scrutiny. "What's up with you?" she asks.
Rachel just shrugs, offering no explanation.
Quinn sets her menu on the table. "How has your day been?" she asks. "How are rehearsals?"
Rachel blinks once, twice, and then smiles. "It's been going well," she says. "We have quite a few scenes fully worked out. I even got to use a few props today."
"And, how did that go?"
Rachel giggles softly. "Not so well," she confesses. "I may or may not have poked Jasmine in the eye with a broom."
Quinn laughs, and it's this glorious, free sound that sets Rachel alight. "You're a walking hazard."
"I'll get better."
"I have no doubt." Quinn's eyes twinkle with something, but the moment is interrupted by their server. Accepting their water, Quinn quickly rattles off their usual order, and then dazzles Rachel with a smile. "So."
Rachel returns her smile, unable to stop herself. "How has your day been?"
Quinn shrugs. "It's all the same," she says. "Just a lot of editing and tutoring. Most of the students want to get their work in before Halloween."
Rachel perks up at the sound of that. "Speaking of," she says. "Do we - umm - do you have any plans?"
Quinn shakes her head. "As if Santana would let me do anything without her," she says, her voice affectionate. "Whatever she's doing, I'm doing, which means we're both doing what you're doing."
Rachel laughs lightly. "Kurt mentioned that Vogue is throwing a pretty big party," she says. "He could probably get us all in."
"Ooh," Quinn says; "I'll have to ask him about it tomorrow."
Rachel frowns. "Tomorrow?"
"Oh, he and Blaine are coming over for dinner, apparently."
"Apparently?"
"I have no say in these things, sometimes," she says with a slight shrug. "Though, I am looking forward to cooking a meal that consists of mostly meat."
"Ew."
Quinn sips at her water, hiding her smile. "One day, Rach."
"Never going to happen."
"You'll see," Quinn says. "I predict it. When you're pregnant with your first child, you're going to have this crazy craving for beef jerky… and you're going to give in."
She exaggerates a gasp. "Don't you say such a thing," she says. "You're going to jinx me."
Quinn laughs prettily, and Rachel's heart soars with accomplishment. "Mark my word."
"Just because you inhaled bacon while you were pregnant, doesn't mean I'm going to go back on my morals," she declares.
"I can't wait to be proven right," Quinn says, and this is getting too close to dangerous territory, because she really shouldn't be thinking about Rachel having babies. "I'm glad you could meet me."
"I'm glad you suggested it at all," Rachel mumbles. "I thought you would still be mad at me."
Quinn lets out a slow breath. "I admit that a part of me still is, merely because I still don't quite understand exactly what happened, and you can't explain it to me because you don't remember."
Rachel drops her gaze, debating with herself. "I remember more now than I did when we last spoke," she says.
"Oh?"
"I was feeling… off," she confesses. "Down, I guess. Sullen. And, yes, it did really start when everyone else arrived, and - " she stops, unsure if she can say the next part without making it weird.
She's still unsure about a lot of things regarding her own feelings regarding Quinn and their entire situation, and she doesn't want to open a can of worms they might not be ready for.
Especially after they've barely come through unscathed from this latest hiccup.
Rachel swallows. "I guess, I just got so used to having you with me, and then you weren't, and I did a stupid thing that my drunken brain probably thinks was a good idea at the time, and I really am sorry. I'm never drinking again."
Quinn reaches across the table and rests her hand over both of Rachel's, where they're twitching. "It's okay," she says. "I mean, it's not, but it still is."
Rachel curls her fingers into Quinn's warm palm, fighting the urge to hold on for dear life. She's hit by the alarming feeling that, if she lets go, Quinn is going to disappear forever.
Quinn must see the panic on her face, because her grip tightens. "Hey," she says, her voice soft, gentle. "Rach, what's wrong?"
Rachel sucks in a sharp breath. "I don't want to lose you, Quinn."
Quinn frowns. "What?"
"I know what it's like not to have you in my life, and I much prefer having you in it."
"Well, me too, Rachel," Quinn says, looking a bit confused by the declaration. "Is something wrong?"
"No," Rachel says. "Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all."
"Okay…"
The moment is saved by the arrival of their food and, as confused as Quinn is in this moment, she is starving. After a quick prayer, she starts to eat, one eye making sure Rachel does as well. The two of them come here for the wide selection of delicious soups, and today is no different.
Quinn thinks a change in topic is needed.
"So, what exactly is the plan for Sunday?" she asks, humming softly as she takes a bite of the provided accompaniment of ciabatta.
"I'm not really sure," Rachel says. "I can pick you up, or you can meet me there, or…" she trails off. "I mean, we usually have brunch anyway, so I could just… I don't know."
Quinn smiles gently. "What time do we have to be there?"
"The entire thing is supposed to start at noon, but God knows that's definitely not happening. Theatre people are too dramatic for that kind of punctuality. On a Sunday, no less. It'll be a miracle."
Quinn's smile turns into a grin. "Did you just call other people dramatic?"
"Shut up."
Quinn laughs. "Well, okay, why don't you just come to mine?" she offers. "I can get changed after church, and then we can go. Do we have to take anything?"
Rachel beams at her. "You are so lovely, did you know that?"
Quinn ignores her, blushing slightly. "Something vegan, probably. I've been wanting to try this recipe for a cold bean salad."
"I'll bake some vegan cookies," Rachel says.
Quinn pouts. "That's not fair. They're definitely going to like yours better than mine."
"Sweet doesn't always trump savoury, Quinn."
Quinn's eyes narrow slightly. "Is that who we are in this relationship?" she asks. "You're sweet, and I'm savoury?"
Rachel gives it a moment of thought, a slow smile spreading across her face. "It does make some sense," she agrees. "But, you do have your sweet moments."
"And you have savoury ones."
They stare at each other for a beat, and then they burst out laughing. Rachel even has to wipe tears from her eyes at some point.
"We are honestly so weird," Quinn declares, and Rachel doesn't have anything to argue against that. It's probably one of the things she loves most about them.
"Please can I change this God-awful music!"
Quinn sighs, exchanging an exasperated look with Blaine, who's happily perched on a stool at the breakfast bar in her kitchen. They can hear Kurt padding about in his socks in the living room, his mind set on fiddling with Quinn's iPod.
"Fine," she calls out. "Just no showtunes."
"Do you even have showtunes?"
"As if Rachel would let me not have the essential collection."
Blaine laughs at Quinn's eye-roll, and then bravely says, "You and Rachel, huh?"
Even though there's absolutely nothing going on, Quinn still blushes. "How spicy do you want your patty?" she asks, chopping a green chilli to drop into the ground beef mixture that's going to become their burger patties.
"What's the normal amount?" Blaine asks.
"Tell me, do you want it mild, medium, hot or hot-enough-to-burn-all-the-holes-off-your-body?"
Blaine laughs, even though he looks horrified. "Maybe we should just go with a safe medium," he suggests.
"Good plan," she says, dropping the chilli into the mixture and giving it a good mix. She adds in some seasoning, and then proceeds to form the patties. To keep them moist through the cooking, she presses a small cube of butter into the centre of each patty.
Blaine just watches it all in wonder, casually sipping at his wine - that he made sure to bring - and trying not to cringe every time Kurt changes the song.
Quinn is clearly in her element, absently humming to a song existing only in her head as she prepares the patties, and then checks the temperature on her pan by hovering her hand over it. She looks relaxed, unburdened, and this is a Quinn Fabray that continually fascinates him.
"Finally!" they hear Kurt declare, and Quinn lets out a soft laugh.
Quinn is just setting the patties into the pan when Kurt comes back to the kitchen, a huge smile on his face. The sizzle startles him, and Blaine laughs at his expense.
Kurt scowls at his boyfriend. "And to think I was going to ask you to dance with me," he mutters. He lifts his gaze. "Quinn, dance with me."
"So demanding," she quips, but dutifully moves into the open space of her large kitchen - for New York, at least. "Blaine, watch those patties. They burn, and I'll hurt you."
Blaine is sure she means it.
Kurt twirls Quinn, and she laughs as they settle into a dance position, her hand on his shoulder and his on her hip, their other hands clasped at his other shoulder. They step to the beat of You've Changed by Sia, and Quinn can't stop herself from thinking that she's living her best life.
Well, she's trying to, anyway.
"I think I'm going to start a herb garden," Quinn says, deftly cutting a sweet potato fry in half, stabbing both pieces and then popping them in her mouth. She made a side salad as well, but she's not feeling the greens tonight.
To counter her indulgence, her burger is open-face, with the top bun removed.
"Quinn, this slaw is amazing," Blaine compliments between bites of his burger. "If I didn't literally watch you make it, I wouldn't believe it."
Quinn blushes under the praise.
Kurt smiles at her. "So, what's this about a herb garden?"
"I think, if I weren't living in an apartment, I would probably like to have a huge vegetable garden, maybe even some chickens, but I'll have to settle for herbs in the city."
Kurt crinkles his nose. "Chickens?"
"For eggs."
"God, Rachel would hate that."
"I would treat them very well," Quinn defends. "I'm sure I could convince her."
"Oh, I'm sure you could."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Why don't you say what you really want to say, Hummel? Your grey hairs are starting to show."
Kurt gasps, and automatically moves to pat down his hair. "You take that back, Fabray."
"Never."
Blaine just watches it all in amusement. He stopped trying to figure out their dynamic a while ago, and now he just enjoys it.
Kurt clears his throat. "What is going on between you and Rachel?" he asks.
Quinn doesn't answer immediately. Instead, she sips at her wine, lets out a deep sigh, and then says, "Nothing, really." Which is the truth. "I'm pretending to be her girlfriend to the people in the production, and that's about it."
Kurt waits a beat. "There's more," he says.
Quinn nibbles on her bottom lip. "So, I may or may not be completely over her the way I convinced myself I was," she admits softly. "In fact, I'm not over her at all. This is honestly the worst thing I could have ever done to myself." She can barely look at either of the two men. "I know it's going to end in disaster, but I can't help it. It's like watching a car accident about to happen. You know the wreck is coming, but you just can't look away."
"That's a terrible analogy," Kurt comments.
"I think it's apt," Blaine says; "though slightly graphic."
Quinn sighs, setting down her cutlery. "It just… feels so good to be with her, you know." A tiny smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "Even if we're just having a meal or doing nothing, my entire being just hums when I'm in her presence."
"Oh, boy," Blaine says.
"This is worse than we thought," Kurt adds. He runs a hand over his hair, giving up on keeping it looking perfect. "Quinn, darling, you do realise what's happened, right?"
Quinn isn't an idiot. The furthest from it, in fact. She knows exactly what's happened, and she's at a loss as to what to do about it.
Because, she might maybe like Alessia a little bit, but she could never pursue anything real with the woman because, well, she's pretty sure she's feeling something a lot more for Rachel Berry. She's just not ready to put a name to that dirty four-letter word, but it's becoming much more difficult to ignore.
Well.