Ain't That a Kick in the Head

Chapter 8

Quinn nearly choked when Rachel's fingers slipped under the red waistband of her shorts. She staggered back into the shower wall-temporarily blinded by the sun-and jammed her heel into the wooden slats. Rachel chuckled against her throat and dragged a single finger up Quinn's side. It left a pale path in the sun-darkened skin.

She consciously lingered on one of Quinn's scars, and Quinn shook her head and tipped unsteadily forward for Rachel's lips again.

They were gritty and soaked and pressed up against the splintery wall of an outdoor shower, but Quinn was one breathy little moan away from pulling on the knot of Rachel's bikini and dropping to her knees.

Her own shorts were twisted sideways, and she was pretty sure her rashguard was lying in a wet pile on the beach.

"I love your hair." Quinn rumbled, twisting so that Rachel was the one pressed against the wooden shower slats.

Rachel chuckled against her mouth. "I know."

Quinn dragged her fingers through the dark, tangled locks. Rachel's hair smelled like saltwater, curly and wild. Quinn's fingers caught in a knot and Rachel hummed at the feeling.

"You should…take this off." Quinn breathed. She ran her thumbs along the strap of Rachel's bikini.

"Sam's going to barge in."

Quinn shook her head. "He's…building something. Or doing something."

"Then Santana. Or Mike."

Rachel stared up at the sky to catch her breath. She kept her hands on Quinn's sides-warm and slightly sticky from the ocean-and groaned lowly when Quinn's mouth dropped to her collarbone.

"They'll knock." Quinn said thickly, staring at the red marks she'd trailed down Rachel's neck.

She decided it was worth the sand in her mouth, the grit between her teeth.

"Okay!" Rachel declared when Quinn's fingers slid smoothly under her bikini strap. She knocked her elbows into the wall in her haste to seize Quinn's wrists. "O-okay. Just-let's-we need to stop."

Quinn stared blankly, chest heaving.

"It's…not…" Rachel licked her lips and glanced away, gathering her thoughts.

Once she got past Quinn's thigh pressing against her own, Quinn's fingers wrapped warmly around her upper arms, all she could see was the last time she'd been carried away.

"What?" Quinn panted, searching her face.

Rachel couldn't look at Quinn's lips, salt and sun-chapped and swollen, because she'd be drawn right back in. She couldn't look at her slicked blonde hair or the skin above or below those faded red shorts.

"Is there something in your eye?" Quinn gripped Rachel's chin and tilted her face up to check. "Sand? I'll help you wash it out."

"No, no. I just…need to stop."

Quinn nodded. She let go of Rachel's face, but it was a moment before she stepped back because her legs felt too weak to support her weight. She turned on the water for the shower and studied Rachel while it warmed.

She seemed to be looking at every detail of the shower-the flip flops in the corner, sand around the edges, trees on the other side of the wooden slats-just to avoid glancing at Quinn. Quinn tipped her head, curious. A little smug.

"You alright?" Quinn drawled, rinsing the sand from her ankles.

Rachel hummed vaguely.

"Yeah? Are you sure?"

Rachel didn't reply, and Quinn straightened up under the stream of water, watching her carefully. She washed the sand from her hair while Rachel picked at the grit under her nails.

"Did I do something wrong?" Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Have you lost your voice? You definitely had it earlier."

Rachel bit her cheek. "Quinn."

Quinn smiled slightly.

"You haven't done anything." Rachel assured.

"Why won't you look at me?"

Rachel laughed shakily. She cleared her throat and met Quinn's eyes. Her dark gaze sent a shockwave through Rachel. Quinn smiled knowingly at her discomfort.

"I think…we probably need to talk." Rachel managed, frowning at the high pitch of her voice. "About something."

"Something." Quinn echoed.

"Yes."

"So…manatees?" Quinn pulled a towel from the fence to dry her hair. "I like them, personally. Definitely pro-manatee. They're endangered. Related to dugongs."

Rachel sighed, smiling slightly.

Quinn put on a Jupiter Surf t-shirt and patted down her hair. "Talk to me about sweet potatoes, Rachel Berry. Gorgeous orange fries."

"You are…ridiculous." Rachel stepped under the shower flow to rinse her own hair.

Quinn was distracted by her arched back, the smooth skin of her thighs. Her eyes widened and she decided Rachel had to be purposely posing like that.

"You want to talk about something else?" Quinn asked absently.

"Please."

Quinn nodded. She pried her eyes away a moment later and pushed open the door to the shop. "Should I be worried?"

She was only half-joking. She grabbed her shortboard out of the corner of the shower and tucked it under her arm.

Rachel smiled softly and shook her head.

"Then I'll be in here when you're ready. Somewhere around." Quinn informed. Rachel just nodded at her. Quinn finally stepped back through the door, scraping the fins of her shortboard along the wall like she'd done so many times before.

She dropped it into the corner of the lounge, drank half a bottle of water, and then fell onto the couch to wait for Rachel.

Quinn was curled up and snoring into the couch cushions when Rachel came out of the shower. Rachel laughed quietly at the sight and sat in the armchair to type the Pro-Am schedule into Quinn's computer.

She was about half an hour into it, entering "Sunday, 4 PM: Awards Ceremony and Closing Party- Jupiter Beach Pier," when Quinn shifted and stretched. She groaned loudly, and Rachel could just imagine how she looked, so she kept her eyes on the laptop screen.

"Why don't you participate in the surf contest?" she wondered distractedly.

Quinn blinked against the light and rubbed at the sand on her arms. "What?"

"You can surf. You should compete."

"Mm. No."

Rachel smiled. "Not as a professional, but…look." She spun the laptop for Quinn to see. "Women's amateur, eighteen to thirty-four division. Have you tried competing before?"

Quinn glanced at the screen. "I don't want to."

"But you've tried?"

Rachel looked over at Quinn when she didn't receive an answer. Quinn was confused-nothing new-and she ran a hand through her hair as she searched for her glasses. She hadn't slept on them, and they weren't on her head.

"What are you doing?" Rachel asked.

"Have you seen-I think I was wearing my glasses, but I can't find them."

Rachel watched her search. "You weren't wearing them when you fell asleep."

Quinn stopped lifting and examining pillows, brow furrowed.

"Quinn, you've only been there for half an hour." Rachel chuckled.

"Oh." Quinn sank back into the cushions and propped her bare feet on the coffee table. "Okay. I thought-that's right, we were surfing. And then…"

Quinn's eyes cleared and she smirked. "Showering."

Rachel watched her behavior curiously.

"And no, I've never competed and I'm not going to start now." Quinn shook her head. "But I'm sure we can stick you in a grom division if you'd like. You'll blend right in with the kiddies."

Rachel scoffed and turned back to the laptop. "Just so you know, you have sand stuck to half your face."

"You wanted to talk to me, right?" Quinn lifted her t-shirt to rub it against her cheek. "Not about manatees or sweet potatoes."

"Right."

"Well, I'm awake."

Rachel shut the laptop and turned to face Quinn. She had no plan, no point, just things to sort through. A tangled mess of things that she'd probably just make worse. Quinn watched intently.

"Santana told me you don't do casual." Was the first thing that made it out of Rachel's mouth.

Quinn recoiled slightly, eyes narrowed.

"Which-I mean-I don't know how else you'd describe what we've been doing." Rachel managed. She fiddled with the hem of her shorts because Quinn was just staring at her. "And I'm pretty sure Santana's harboring suspicions that I'm a murderer."

"You talked to Santana?"

Rachel hummed. "She talked…at me."

Quinn's gaze hadn't wavered. Rachel could see glittery specks of sand on her cheeks.

"She told you-God, Rachel, don't listen to Santana." Quinn sat back against the cushions and shook her head. Her friends were fools.

"I…think she's right." Rachel hedged.

Quinn stared again. "Really." Her lips quirked. "About the murderer part? Because that's the only part I'd believe."

"I don't understand why everybody thinks I've committed some crime!" Rachel nearly shrieked.

Quinn was unaffected. "Because we don't know where you came from. You tripped over me, called me a bitch, got stung by a man o' war, and now you're here."

Rachel sighed.

"And just because I don't do casual," Quinn put finger quotes around the words, "doesn't mean I don't want to keep…I like this."

"I'm leaving in less than three weeks." Rachel said bluntly.

Quinn cut her eyes over. "And I have a dental check-up next month. Who gives a damn? Live for now."

"People will see us. People will talk."

"People are idiots. I'll follow your lead."

Rachel laughed, exasperated. "You are…very frustrating." She tipped her head back against the chair and closed her eyes.

Quinn nodded shortly.

"Casual is fine." Rachel mused softly. "You know, as long as nobody falls in love."

Quinn was silent for a minute, wondering if Rachel was making a point. She decided she couldn't tell and would make a fool of herself if she assumed. She shrugged and smiled slightly. "Some people make it so easy."

Rachel couldn't really handle reading anything into that remark. Quinn's smirk was telling. Rachel sighed and resigned herself to what she was about to do.

"Let's have dinner." She declared. Quinn's brows lifted. "No sweet potatoes, no peanuts. And I'll-maybe if I tell you why I'm here you'll stop suspecting that I've killed people."

A slow smile spread over Quinn's face. "Are you taking me out, Rachel Berry?"

"No."

Quinn stood up and walked to Rachel's chair. She leaned over, hands resting on one of the arms, and ducked to catch Rachel's gaze. "Are you absolutely positive?"

Rachel nodded shortly.

"Santana was right, you know." Quinn murmured, not budging an inch. "I don't do casual. But I don't think it's casual when the other person feels exactly the same way as I do."

Rachel nodded again. She managed to breathe when Quinn backed off and stood up straight.

Quinn smiled down at her. "I'm meeting Sham about a sponsor right now. You pick the place tonight."

Rachel couldn't stop nodding. Quinn chuckled to herself and headed for the door, trying to untangle her hair on the way.

"Your face is still covered in sand," was all she heard from Rachel. It was loud and shaky, and Quinn smiled.

….

Rachel walked into the lounge at exactly 6 p.m., bags and baskets of food in hand. She'd realized belatedly that she didn't know any restaurants in the area, so she decided on an outdoor dinner-a picnic. Sweet and simple.

And then she considered that a picnic in Florida just involved sitting in a muggy swamp and being eaten by mosquitoes. Maybe alligators?

So Rachel was a little frantic when she strode through the yellow door and spied Quinn and Santana on the couch.

"You know, you don't usually have to bring your own food to a restaurant." Quinn remarked. She'd obviously made some kind of effort, in a skirt and actual lace-up shoes, even though she'd been explicitly told this was not a date.

Or maybe the shoes were just so unfamiliar on her that it only seemed like she'd made an effort.

Santana narrowed her eyes at Rachel.

"I realized that I'm not exactly familiar with the restaurants in the area yet." Rachel explained, ignoring Quinn's smirk. "So I packed our dinner. I'm sorry, I was going to pick somewhere for seafood, but…I should have allotted more time to plan this."

Quinn shrugged easily. "Not a date."

"Quinn doesn't like seafood." Santana stated bluntly, eyes still narrowed.

Rachel looked to Quinn, surprised. "But you live on the beach."

"And you live in Los Angeles." Quinn smiled. "Do you eat celebrities?"

Rachel scoffed. She stiffened slightly when Santana got up from the couch and walked towards her. Santana stopped inches away, staring down at her, even though Rachel was only slightly shorter. Rachel lifted her chin and tried not to step back.

"Berry."

Rachel cleared her throat. "Santana."

Santana nodded and continued through the yellow door.

Quinn chuckled when they were alone, head tipped back against the couch. She watched Rachel relax.

"She'll get softer. She has a date tonight."

Rachel nodded. She observed Quinn's slouched form and lifted a brow. "Are you going to get up anytime soon? Or would you prefer to lie there all night?"

Quinn stood up-groaning exaggeratedly- and balanced against the couch to pry the shoes from her feet. She pointed at the flats Rachel was wearing. "You won't need those."

"Are you choosing our picnic spot?" Rachel asked warily.

"I am."

"And we won't need shoes?"

"We won't." Quinn crossed the room and took one of the bags from Rachel's hands. She shook it around curiously, watching Rachel's face. Rachel kept it blank.

"Will I like what you've scrounged up?"

Rachel shrugged and headed out the door. "It's too bad if you don't. More for me."

Quinn laughed to herself. She followed Rachel outside and guided her towards the familiar path to the beach. Rachel was unsurprised with the direction. The sun was only just starting to set as they reached the dune line. Quinn usually went right-towards the pier to surf-but she turned left tonight and led Rachel about a hundred yards down the beach.

"How far are we going?" Rachel wondered when Quinn showed no signs of stopping.

Quinn bobbled her head. "All the way, probably."

"What does that even mean?"

Quinn spun and walked backwards for a few steps, skirt flowing lightly in the breeze. She shrugged at Rachel and swung her bag of food alarmingly high. "What are you talking about?"

Rachel shook her head.

"Actually, right here." Quinn stopped abruptly. She set the food lightly on the sand and reached for Rachel, guiding her towards a sea turtle nest marked off by neon orange tape. It was at the base of the dune, and it looked exactly the same as three other nests they'd passed.

Quinn's fingers were light on the small of Rachel's back as they observed it. Rachel awwed, even though all she could see was sand.

"This is marked from last month, so they should be hatching soon." Quinn explained quietly.

"Tonight?"

"Anytime." Quinn shrugged. "If you come back often enough you're bound to see it happen."

Rachel nodded.

"I thought we could dine with the turtles." Quinn smiled. She let go of Rachel and plucked the blanket from the basket, and Rachel helped her set it on the sand several yards from the nest. Then she sat down, legs stretched out in front of her, and waited expectantly for Rachel to feed her.

"I brought pasta salad, banana bread, and tempeh sushi rolls, all vegan." Rachel described, pulling small containers from her bags. "There's a strawberry fizz cocktail, probably heavy on the gin, and regular lemonade."

Quinn nodded easily with each new gift.

Rachel smiled slightly and pulled the last container from the bag, watching Quinn's reaction. "And sweet potato fries."

Quinn grinned. Her cheeks warmed and she caught Rachel's gaze, nodding her thanks.

"Changed your mind, huh?" Quinn murmured.

Rachel hummed casually. "I just don't feel like dealing with a petulant child all night."

Quinn was so focused on removing the top of the box of fries that she missed the comment. She stuffed several in her mouth and moaned loudly, and then grabbed a paper plate to fill with pasta and banana bread.

Rachel watched her, pleased and amused.

She poured out their drinks and prepared her own plate. The waves were quiet and the sun was dropping, and she realized mosquitoes and mugginess weren't really problems by the ocean.

"You were going to tell me who you killed, right?" Quinn wondered, hand over her mouth.

She'd been watching Rachel watch the waves-curly haired, red faced, tan lines on her shoulders. So different from the Rachel who fell into her a couple weeks ago. Who called her an inconsiderate bitch and then came crawling back for medical attention. Quinn smiled.

Rachel chewed on her pasta and plucked her banana bread into little pieces. "I want you to know what you've gotten yourself into, because I'm really not-I mean, you'll probably see me as a different person after this."

Quinn watched her silently.

"I know I do." Rachel laughed wryly.

"I doubt I will." Quinn sandwiched a handful of fries between two slices of banana bread and took a bite. She gazed challengingly at Rachel, daring her to just say it. To spit it out.

Rachel decided it was a nice night for a breakdown.

"I slept with the casting director of Anything Goes."

The only sign that Quinn heard her was a brief pause in chewing. She watched Rachel intently.

"Not because he was the casting director." Rachel explained hurriedly. "It just-he was-it had nothing to do with work." She took a sip from her drink and coughed a bit.

"No judgement, Rachel. Slow yourself." Quinn said calmly. She nodded at Rachel's food. "Eat and talk. It's okay."

Rachel searched her face. Clear eyes, sharp chin, cheeks full of food. Quinn looked fine so far, so she continued.

"We…had met several times about the movie, and he's-he's very charming. And talented, and incredibly full of himself."

Quinn grimaced slightly.

"I really wasn't myself. I was constantly working, not sleeping, trying to please everybody but pleasing nobody." Rachel took a bite of her pasta, staring at her lap. "Jesse-that's his name, Jesse St. James-we met at a bar to discuss the role. We were drinking, and I'm pretty sure I started singing."

Quinn chuckled into her drink.

Rachel sighed. "It's not funny."

Quinn's smile dropped immediately. "Sorry, you're right."

"He came home with me, and we were talking about our dream roles and our favorite musicals, and he just-we just…" Rachel frowned and shook her head. It wasn't even clear in her mind. "I fell out of bed at three in the morning and he'd already left."

Quinn watched her carefully. She leaned forward to catch her gaze and discovered that the sight of Rachel crying was incredibly saddening, like nothing before.

Rachel swiped at her eyes and laughed shortly. "I had…I slept with the producer and casting director of Anything Goes. The perfect role for me." She took a deep breath, unable to hold Quinn's gaze. "I think I lost my mind, I was such an idiot. I had to leave."

"You weren't an idiot." Quinn murmured.

Rachel rubbed her hands over her eyes until she was sure she could stop crying. Quinn scooted closer and rested a warm hand on her knee.

"Has he said anything to you about it?" she asked softly. "Is he trying to use it against you?"

Rachel shook her head quickly.

"And you were okay? When it happened? And you're okay now?"

Rachel nodded, warmed by Quinn's concerned tone. "It had nothing to do with the role. They'd already offered it to me. I was just being stupid."

Quinn scoffed quietly. "You weren't stupid."

"I got caught up. I think I'm different now."

Quinn was silent for a while. She rubbed Rachel's knee absently and stared at the waves. Really, this revelation had changed nothing. Everybody rolls a little off course sometimes. Quinn had rolled all the way down to Florida.

"It hasn't changed anything. It's not who you are." Quinn finally said, reaching for more fries.

Rachel smiled sadly at her. "You met me two weeks ago, Quinn. You don't know."

"I do, actually."

Rachel's smile faded to confusion, and then curiosity. She tipped her head and stared at the side of Quinn's face.

Quinn licked her lips. This would blast her circle to bits.

"I met you in high school. Once." She admitted quietly-sheepishly-because it was such a random thing to hold so closely to her heart.

Rachel's jaw slowly dropped.

"At a glee competition. You sang'Don't Let the Stars Get in Your Eyes.'" Quinn dumped sweet potato fries into her pasta just to have something to do with her hands. "By Perry Como, and then Dean Martin. Don't let the stars get in your eyes, don't let the moon break your heart."

Rachel's gaze- wide eyed and red rimmed-was fixed on Quinn's face.

Quinn ran a hand through her hair, realized her hand was coated with grease, and then grimaced and wiped at her face with her arm. She smiled hopelessly and glanced at Rachel.

"You know, I think you think I'm joking when I tell you I have memory problems."

Rachel's mouth dropped open further. "What?"

"The first time I ever saw your name was in your high school glee club's program." Quinn continued, half-smiling. "Rachel Berry, team captain. I stopped you in the hall-on a whim, or something- and told you your voice was beautiful, and you thanked me and offered an autograph, which I didn't get."

Rachel's eyes darted around, confused. "You-I can't believe-what-"

"Your name stuck with me, Rachel Berry." Quinn tipped forward and took a bite of her pasta salad fry mixture. She bobbled her head, pleased with it.

"And your voice. I forgot some things after the accident." Quinn's voice was low and even. She watched wide brown eyes. "But that song you sang just stuck. I don't even know why. Sham calls me scatter-brained, jackass, but Rachel Berry never goes away."

Rachel pressed a hand over her mouth.

Quinn had tokens to remember things. Her cross, the stickers on her board. Rachel thought over her habits-loose and laid back, shoeless, messy. She scooted right next to Quinn and wrapped both arms tightly around her waist.

"That's right." Quinn's voice was rough, but smiling. She was reeling with what she'd just done-a little stunned at herself- and she rubbed a hand over Rachel's back. "You just latched on, Rachel Berry. I can't get rid of you."

"Seriously? Because I'm trying to push you away!" Rachel laughed desperately. She pressed her face against Quinn's shoulder and tried to process everything.

"I'm not going away."

"Why didn't you tell me you knew me? Or you'd met me?"

Quinn ducked her head. She took another bite of her food with Rachel's arms still wrapped around her waist. "You wouldn't have remembered." She mumbled. Rachel watched her cheeks turn pink in the setting sun. "And it was…I don't know, special to me. Or something."

Quinn cringed internally. It was the only way to describe something that stuck in her head for nearly eight years. Special. And stupid.

"I owe you an autograph." Rachel said softly.

Quinn's lips quirked. "You have given me much better than an autograph."

"Have you followed my career this whole time?"

Quinn cleared her throat and filled her mouth with fries. She shrugged casually, and Rachel chuckled against her shoulder.

"I know you're still you, Rachel." Quinn said after a moment. "No matter what you think you messed up. The Rachel Berry who got herself stung by a man o' war and came crying to me is the same girl who offered me an autograph when I told her she had a nice voice."

"Beautiful voice." Rachel corrected quietly.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Terrible voice."

"I don't know what to do now."

"Be Reno Sweeney." Quinn shrugged. "Drink your strawberry stuff, eat your fishy stuff, help me with the Pro-Am, and be Reno Sweeney."

Rachel absently kissed Quinn's shoulder. "That's not what I meant."

Quinn hummed. She turned her head so that her nose brushed against Rachel's. She kissed her lips, clumsily because of the angle-tasting gin and saltwater- and smiled at the little noise Rachel made.

"Then Rachel Berry, I have no idea what you're talking about."