When you get back from Lima and start your job, it didn't take long for you to establish a routine. You wake up at six-thirty and start the coffee. After a shower and necessary grooming, you get the paper from the outside hallway. The first few times you said good morning to the neighbors they looked at you like you were crazy, but they've warmed up to you and now say it back. Of course since it's become a routine, you wake up at six-thirty even though you don't have to go into work today until after two. You love the flexible schedule of your profession, but on days like these you wish you had something to do.
Usually Rachel is out of her room by now in her gym clothes. She leaves to go to the gym at the same time you usually leave to go to work so most of the time you chat over coffee and a light breakfast.
However as you sit at the table sipping your coffee, you hear a noise coming from her bedroom. A vicious cough that makes you wince.
You slowly stand from the table, immediately concerned. Once at her closed door, you softly knock, "Rach are you okay?"
After a more muffled cough she calls back, "I think I'm dying."
You smile. She's never afraid of a hyperbole. You open the door and find her laying in her bed looking like a sad puppy staring back at you. You tease her, "You don't look like you're dying."
She frowns at you and burrows under the covers, disappearing in the mass of sheets, blankets, and pillows.
You lean on the doorframe, "Do you want some coffee or tea?"
"Tea," is her weak reply.
After getting the kettle settled on the stove, you walk back into her room. You carefully sit on her bed and tug on the blankets she's firmly holding over her head, "Rachel, I'm just trying to see if you're running a fever."
She pouts, but let's go of the blanket so you can pull it off. She groans, "Oh the sun."
"Your curtains are closed." You press your hand to her forehead. "Well maybe a little fever, but nothing bad."
"Nothing bad?" she squeals and dives back under the covers, "I have a show tonight!"
"Then let me take care of you," you pull at the blankets again.
She huffs and dramatically throws the covers off. After a brief chuckle you smile and explain, "I'm going to call Santana and then I'll get started on some soup for you okay?"
She just groans in an answer. You shake your head and make your way back to the kitchen. You get started on the miso soup and call Santana as you stir it.
"I'm not a doctor," Santana huffs when you ask her to come over.
You get down a tea bag and place it in Rachel's favorite mug, which you set out earlier, "I'll tell you what to say. Just look thoughtful and regurgitate the information." You pour the hot water over it and then replace the kettle.
"Can you not say regurgitate so early in the morning?" she mumbles in your ear.
You sigh. These people are not cooperative this early in the morning, "Please S?"
After a pause, she answers, "Is there coffee?"
"Of course."
"Then I'll be over in ten." She states and then the line goes dead.
You put almond milk and sugar in Rachel's tea and carefully carry it to her bedroom. You find her half open eyes watch you all the way to the bed. She does look to be in sad shape, but in the most adorable way you can think of.
She sits up and softly blows on the tea. You look around her room that is it's usual pre-maid mess. There are clothes everywhere and empty water glasses on her nightstand. You push off of the bed and start to pick up her dirty clothes, tossing them into the hamper.
"You don't have to do that," Rachel sets her tea on her nightstand and lies back down.
You pause to smile at her, "I know, but I'm going to because you gave your maid the week off for her birthday and when she gets back I don't want there to be a great wall of clothes surrounding your bed."
She watches you for a few seconds before taking another sip of her tea. Then you turn to the TV and DVD players and turn them on. You're not surprised to find the disc menu for Funny Girl already up. You press play and make your way back to the kitchen to finish the soup.
As you ladle some of the soup into a bowl there's a knock on the door. You find that Santana is in sweat pants, a t-shirt with a gray track jacket hanging open. She looks half-asleep.
"Good morning," you attempt with a hopeful smile.
"I haven't been to bed yet," she mumbles with her head tilted slightly.
You raise your eyebrows and brush some of her hair back into place, "Go tell Rachel that she just needs to stay in bed all day and she'll be fine. Then go lay down in my bed so I can make sure you at least get a couple of hours sleep."
"Yes mommy," she says but immediately her eyes shoot to you and she starts to apologize.
You shake your head and tell her it's okay. You talked to her a few times while you and Finn were trying to get pregnant she made a snarky remark almost identical to the one she just threw at you and you hung up on her, refusing to answer her calls for weeks. You're not as disappointed as you could be that you couldn't get pregnant with Finn now because if you had then you wouldn't be here. You'd still be with him and still in Lima, not living with Rachel and regularly seeing Santana (and some of the time, Brittany).
You place a hand on her back to guide her in before you close the door. You both pause in the kitchen while you pick up the soup and some crackers.
When you get into the bedroom, Rachel eyes you both suspiciously. Santana motions for Rachel to sit up which she does. Santana makes a show of feeling Rachel's forehead and then her lymph nodes. She pauses while feeling around Rachel's neck, taking her time, "Have you had your tonsils out?"
"Of course not." Rachel defiantly states.
"Hmm," Santana continued with taking Rachel's pulse and looking at her throat, "Just cool it today. Relax and let Q take care of you. You should be okay by this evening, but think about getting your tonsils looked at by a real doctor."
Rachel momentarily panics and looks to you for support. You hand her the bowl of soup and rub the area between her shoulder blades supportively, "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about."
Santana nodded, "It could just save you future sore throats if you get them out now."
"Never!" Rachel glares at Santana. You firmly put your hand on her shoulder to keep her from jumping out of the bed. Rachel sets the soup down next to her tea and launches into full on rant mode, "Julia Andrews got her throat operated on in 1997 and her singing voice just returned a few years ago! And that was after years of vocal therapy! I can't afford to lose my-"
"Rachel!" You bark, surprising yourself as well as the two girls with you. You gently squeeze her shoulder, "You're getting yourself worked up about nothing. Santana is just suggesting a consultation. No surgical instruments will go anywhere near your throat. I promise."
Rachel takes a deep breath and leans into you. Her head rests on your shoulder and you can't help, but stroke her hair as she murmurs, "Sorry."
"It's okay," you drop a kiss on her head without thinking about it, but once you realize what you did, you decide to go with it like it didn't mean anything; like your lips aren't still tingling. "I'm going to go put Santana to bed and then I'll come check on you in a few minutes."
She nods against your shoulder and collapses on the bed. Santana gives you a quirked eyebrow look as you lead the way out of the bedroom. She closes the door and silently follows you to your bedroom.
The complete lack of accusation in her look surprises you. Maybe she hasn't quite connected the dots yet. Maybe she still thinks of you as the same girl you were in high school and is a little creeped out by your affection for the Broadway star because of the glaring contrast.
Regardless, you lay on the bed next to Santana. You snake your arms around her waist and you feel her do the same. As you lay on the bed you know that you're both pretending to be holding someone else. She's pretending you're a little bit taller and you're pretending she's a little bit shorter.
You know your talk with Brittany helped a little. More on the honesty front and not so much on the actually seeing each other front. Santana misses Brittany. You can tell every time you see her. You want to tell her that you're both in the same boat. That you're hurting too.
You look down at her and find her already asleep. You've already formulated a short speech in your head so you go ahead and whisper it to her, knowing that it'll at least make you feel any better, "I feel your pain S. I do. I'm so in love with Rachel and I have been since high school and now…we live together. It hurts when she touches me, but it feels so good. I…" Tears sting the back of your eyes, but you refuse to let them take over.
You carefully disengage from Santana and make your way to the kitchen. You pick up your coffee that has turned cold by now and finish it off. Then you poke your head into Rachel's room and find that she's almost asleep with her eyes intently watching Fanny move across the screen.
You start to leave, when she stops you, "Quinn."
"Hmm?" you step back into the room, but keep near the door.
"Where are you going?" she asks.
"I'm going to go clean the kitchen, finish the coffee and then get ready for work," you explain, watching her eyes struggle to stay open. "I'm not leaving until two and I'll come tell you before I do, but you can call me anytime before then and I'll come running."
She let out a weak smile, "Thank you Quinn."
"Get some sleep," you add softly before closing her bedroom door.
After cleaning the kitchen and straightening up the living room, you check on Santana who is still sleeping soundly. Then you check on Rachel who has finally drifted off. The silence in the apartment has become a rare thing for you. When you and Rachel are together there's constant chatter even when you're watching TV or a movie. When she's at a show, you're usually not home because there's so much to see and so much to do. You going to the piano room and retrieve a book. It's been so long since you've just sat down and read that you can't remember the title of the last book you finished.
After a few hours, your phone rings. You smile at the name on the screen. You answer with a, "You're supposed to be asleep."
"You said if I needed anything to call you," you answers. She sounds a lot better than she did earlier.
"Okay, what do you need?" You dog-ear the page you're on and set it on the coffee table.
"I need someone to lay down with me," she whines.
You get up off of the couch and slowly make your way to her room, "Shall I call David for you?"
"Quinn," she huffs, "Get in my bed immediately."
You hear the beep of a disconnected call and let out a soft chuckle. When you open the door, she's smiling at you. You roll your eyes and crawl into her bed next to her, careful to stay on top of the covers.
She snuggles close to you and sighs contently. You can't help, but run your fingertips the length of her arm. "Do you feel better?"
"A little," she answers, sleepily, "I'm going to go back to sleep if that's okay with you."
"Sure," you start to get off of the bed, but her hand shoots to your hip.
"Stay," she whispers with her eyes closed. She scoots closer to you, "Please?"
You give up on leaving and grab a free pillow to stack on top of the one your head is already on. Then Rachel rests her head on your shoulder. You bite back a noise that would mean you're enjoying this more than you should be.
You run your finger through her silky hair until she falls asleep and not a second longer. You'd feel like you're taking advantage of her and that's not right.
After pacing in the living room for a good twenty minutes, you decide to make the two sleeping brunette's something to eat and go to work early. You need space and air and clarity. You hate this guilty feeling. You just want it gone.
You walk over to the sink to fill up your water bottle before you head out and find that the faucet is leaking from the base. You frown because you should have noticed that earlier. Like you need something else to worry about. So on the way out you call the maintenance office and get told that they'll get to it as soon as possible. Like that actually means anything.
Work goes surprisingly well. You get a few new listings which makes a few of the other agents glare at you from their cubicles. You can't help it if the second a skeezy bachelor walks in needing a new pad, he picks you out because you're blonde and hot and smiling as soon as you see a single guy walk in. It's too easy. They're too easy. As soon as they leave after signing a contract saying that you're they're real estate agent, you roll your eyes. Way, way, way too easy.
When you get home Rachel's gone which you assume means she feels well enough to do her show. That's okay with you tonight. You think that you may need to distance yourself from her for a while. At least physically. That's feeling that's growing in the pit of your stomach is uncomfortable and you can't help, but want it gone.
Of course the sink is still leaking. You call the maintenance office again and get a polite, robotic voicemail. You leave a polite, robotic message asking them to please get to your leaky sink as soon as possible.
Tonight you're way too exhausted to stay awake and wait for Rachel to get home. You feel bad about it, but you've stayed up for her every other night. What's tonight out of all the others?
You fade in and out of sleep all night. After such a productive, exhausting day, you figure that you would be able to sleep like a log, but no here you are at three-sixteen in the morning staring at the ceiling. You're thinking about that stupid sink because it's easier than thinking about Rachel who is presumably asleep in her bed.
As you roll over in your bed, you hear a faint noise coming from outside your bedroom door. You don't see sleep in your immediate future so you get up and go see what it is.
Once in the living room, you find Rachel sitting on the couch wrapped in a blanket watching Bette Midler's stand up routine on the massive TV in the living room.
You move to the couch and see that in the light of the TV, she's upset. Her eyes are puffy and you know she's been crying.
"Rach, what's wrong?" you sit next to her.
She's surprised by your appearance and just looks at you. You pull her into your arms, deeply concerned that something horrible has happened. "What happened?" You ask quietly, "Are your dads okay?"
She nods and sniffles, "It's stupid."
"Just tell me," You whisper and lay back so that she's on top of you. You slowly rub her back and kiss her forehead, "Please."
"I had a horrible dream." She explains in a weak voice, "That I lost my voice forever and was never able to sing again. It's…horrible."
You cup her cheek as her head rests on your chest, "That's not stupid."
You both sit in silence for a few minutes, until you're sure she's asleep. You start to move to get out from under her so she'll be more comfortable, but she sits up. "Sorry, I thought you were asleep," you gently massage her scalp.
"Can I…sleep with you tonight?" she asks quietly, like she's embarrassed.
There's a lump in your throat, but you can't deny her that. You can't deny her anything. You wallow the lump and a deep sigh before answering, "Sure."
You've slept a grand total of three hours and now you're awake watching her sleep in your arms. Her face is relaxed without the extreme emotions that usually cross it. She was snuggling into your body, pressed against you as if you could protect her from the bad dreams. And you try. You want to protect her and if you could crawl into her dreams and fight the darkness, you would without hesitation.
As you watch her, a knot of guilt begins to tangle in your stomach. This isn't fair to her. Not in the least. You feel like you're taking advantage of your roommate and best friend. But you're warm and she's safe in your bed. You love this and that's why you feel guilty. You feel like you need to tell her. It may drive a wedge between you, but she's been honest with you and you've been honest with yourself, maybe it's time to be honest with her. You know that she won't outright reject you. She may just be less affectionate which will probably be good for you. Maybe you can move on. Maybe.
The next day is your glorious day off. Rachel begs you to go to the spa with her. She has a mandatory hair trim to get to, but you politely decline. You explain that you were promised some Brittany time today and you were going to make the other blonde pay up. Plus you need someone to vent to and she's the only person that knows. She pouts, but wishes you a good day anyway.
"I love this song," Brittany mentions as you two relax in her living room, sprawled out on the couch.
You nod. It's a good song, but you're not thinking about the song. You're making a list in your head. Pros and Cons of telling Rachel. Finally you push the list to the side. "Where's Santana?"
"She has a lab or something," Brittany lays her head on the arm of the couch and put her legs over your lap. "She'll be back soon."
You put your arms around her knees and rest your cheek on one of them, "I'll leave when she gets here so you can have some alone time."
"You don't have to," Brittany smiles at you, "I never get to see you either."
"But you don't want to have sex with me," you smirk and poke her in the side.
She giggles and shrinks away, "Well…"
You laugh even harder even though you think she may be serious. Now that you think about it, it's been a long time since you've actually had sex. You tell Brittany that and she looks at you like someone just killed your puppy.
"It's really not that big of a deal," you add because the look she's giving you is making you feel weird.
She picks up the remote and changes the song. "What about Rachel?"
"What about her?"
"You can have sex with her," she offers innocently.
You laugh humorlessly, "Uh, I don't think so."
"Sure you can," she adds, looking at you with her big blue eyes, "Like friend sex."
"Friend sex?"
"Friend sex," she states. She blows her bangs out of her eyes, "It's when you have sex with your friend, but it kinda wouldn't be friend sex to you."
"Right," you nod, "And that's why we can't." That along with a million other reasons.
Brittany's voice is low when she asks, "You love her a lot don't you?"
Before you can answer, Santana walks in. She spots both of you and walks over, "What's up?"
Brittany gets up to greet her with a kiss and you can't help a smile. They're so cute. You envy them, but you'd never say it out loud.
"Just discussing my travesty of a love life," you answer, standing off the couch.
"You love life has been a travesty for a long time," Santana says and pulls you into a brief hug, "Care to narrow it down?"
You look over at Brittany who has a big goofy grin on her face. "It's…" You trail off.
Brittany is bouncing on the balls of her feet like she's about to pee her pants, "Can I tell her?"
You smile at her eagerness and shrug. What's the harm? Brittany knows. Rachel's going to know. Santana should too.
"QuinnsinlovewithRachel," Brittany blurts out in a sentence that was just condensed into one long word. She took a deep breath and smiles, "Yay."
"Yay-what-yay?" Santana looks to you, confused, "Is this for real?"
You slowly nod.
"How long?"
"For like...ever." You sigh with a shrug. You lean back in the couch.
You and Brittany stare at her for a while as you watch her go over everyday of her life that she's known you to look for missed clues. A light bulb of recognition goes off. "Well damn."
"Did you tell her?" Brittany asks eagerly.
"I'm going to tonight," you explain. You can't keep her in the dark anymore. It's not fair. Besides even though the cons outweigh the pros in quantity, the pros mean so much more. Immediately you know Santana thinks it's a bad idea so you add, "She deserves to know. It'll explain all of high school. Plus, it feels wrong when she's in my bed and doesn't know how I feel."
"You've slept together?" Santana's eyes nearly bug out of their sockets.
"Yes, but actual sleep. She had some nightmares and got scared."
Santana rolls her eyes. She's about to say something until Brittany preemptively cuts her off, "What do you think she's going to say?"
You shrug, "I doubt she'll be mad or weird about it...but just in case she does - and I'm talking doomsday scenario here- can I live with you guys?"
"Of course," Brittany answers. Santana just nods like you should already know that.
"Thanks," you rise and swallow hard, "Well I'm going to go start my 'I'm sorry I'm in love with you' dinner."
When you walk into your apartment, you hear music coming from the far hallway. You let out a smile and drop your purse by the door. You smile and follow the sound into the piano room.
She's behind the piano with her eyes closed, blank sheet music in front of her, softly playing something that sounds like a song you vaguely recognize. You lean on the doorframe and contently until she opens her eyes. She looks surprised to see you there and offers you a bashful smile.
You can't help, but smile back, "Do you still write songs?"
"I-yeah," she nods sheepishly. "You caught me." She raises her hands from the keys.
"That sounded really good," you push off of the doorframe and run your teeth over you lip. "Can I hear it?"
"Oh I haven't actually written anything yet. Just warming up. I don't seem to have much of a muse anymore." She ghost her fingers over the keys, still a little shy looking.
"No suppressed emotions?" You ask. That's just wishful thinking on your part and you know it.
She laughs, "You've know me for how long Quinn? Do I suppress anything?"
You laugh too. "No. You don't." You just watch her for a minute and she looks back with a content smile. God you love her. Finally you stand up straight and say, "Well if you play something loud enough for me to hear in the kitchen, I'll get dinner started."
"You cook way too much," she shakes her head. She pats the piano bench next to her and you sit down. You can smell a trace of her perfume in the air. "Not that I'm complaining." She plays a few chords, "You're an amazing cook. However, I feel bad that the best I can do is oatmeal."
"That oatmeal was the best I've ever had," you playfully bump shoulder with her. She tried to cook breakfast for you one morning and you choked it down because she was excited about it. Then you spent an hour cleaning the kitchen, wondering how she made that huge of a mess over oatmeal.
She beams. You absolutely love Saturday and Sunday nights. Matinee shows get her home in time for dinner. During the week you come home from work and make her lunch or make sure that there is something ready for her, but these nights you cherish because it's just you and her until the next morning.
"Let me take you out tonight. There's a place downtown with a great wine selection. You won't have to eat vegan either." She starts to softly play a song you know.
You watch her deft fingers move over the keys, "One condition."
"No I will not stop singing in the shower. It's an integral part of my vocal exercises." She lets out a playful grin.
You chuckle, "No. I'll start to worry if you stop singing in the shower. In fact, my condition is that you sing for me, but not that song." You point to the piano, "I'll cry if you sing that song."
Her hands drop into her lap, "Really?"
You nod.
"You cried when I sang it in high school."
"I know and you're the only one that that happens with," you state, looking at your nails.
"Why?"
You shrug, "No idea. I even cried when you sang that in the shower last week."
"Hmm," she puts her hands back on the keys, her fingers easily finding the right notes to a completely different song. "How about this?"
You immediately recognize the song and smile as she starts to sing.
Three little birds, sat on my window.
And they told me I don't need to worry.
Summer came like cinnamon
So sweet,
Little girls double-dutch on the concrete.
Maybe sometimes, we've got it wrong, but it's alright
The more things seem to change, the more they stay the same
Oh, don't you hesitate.
Girl, put your records on, tell me your favourite song
You go ahead, let your hair down
Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams,
Just go ahead, let your hair down.
You're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow.
Blue as the sky, sunburnt and lonely,
Sipping tea in a bar by the roadside,
(just relax, just relax)
Don't you let those other boys fool you,
Got to love that afro hair do.
Maybe sometimes, we feel afraid, but it's alright
The more you stay the same, the more they seem to change.
Don't you think it's strange?
Girl, put your records on, tell me your favourite song
You go ahead, let your hair down
Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams,
Just go ahead, let your hair down.
You're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow.
When she finishes you smile and give her a hug, "That was great."
"Are you ready to go?" she asks, removing her fingers from the keys. She plays with the hem of your dress, waiting for your answer.
"I have a better idea. How about I show you how to make that eggplant stir-fry that you love," you offer. You don't want to have to tell her in a public place. Especially if the doomsday scenario is how it does down.
"Yay," she grins. Her face lights up and she puts her arms around your waist. You hold her around her shoulders and close your eyes just in case she never wants you to touch her against after dinner.
"Quinn are you okay?" She softly whispers in your hair.
You pull back with a smile, "Yeah. Ready?"
You two manage to make a mess of the kitchen, but make a delicious dinner that you eat, standing up at the bar, reminiscing about high school.
She picks up your empty bowl and takes it with hers to the sink, "I'm totally making dessert on my own." She starts the coffee maker and opens the freezer.
"Wait," you say and take a deep breath, it's now or never.
She looks at you expectantly, closing the freezer. "Hmm?"
Your eyes dart around the kitchen. You don't know if you can do this anymore. You're more nervous than you've ever been in your whole life.
"Quinn what's wrong?" she softly asks putting her hand over yours that is resting on the counter, "You're acting really weird tonight."
You sigh, "I'm sorry." The coffee machine beeps, announcing that it's done. You love how fast it moves in the morning and especially right now, "Let's get some coffee and talk at the table."
She nods. You both silently make your coffee just the way you like it and move to the table together. You sit across from each other. You stare really, really hard at your coffee. You can feel her watching you. You need to tell her and now is as good of a time as any.
"I can't live with you unless I'm completely honest with you," you scrape you shoe across the floor. You've never been more nervous in your entire life. You look at her questioning face. She's worried and concerned. You wrap your arms around yourself and look at the table, "I understand that you may not want to live with me after I say what I'm going to tell you which is okay. I'd understand-"
"Quinn just tell me," you gives you a soft smile, "I'm sure nothing will affect our friendship."
You take a deep breath and count to three in your head, "I've had...feelings...for you," suddenly everything is coming out faster than you can filter the words, "non platonic, romantic feelings for a really long time but I know you're not attracted to women and even if you were you're with David which I guess explains why I don't like him. I just... You need to know because I couldn't keep you in the dark. It wouldn't be fair to you or anything. That being said I'm not going to like try to sneak peeks of you getting out of the shower or anything cause that's pervy and creepy. I just... You need to know."
She takes a moment to absorb the waterfall of words that just rushed out of your mouth. She watches you carefully and you can practically see the cogs moving behind her eyes as she processes your words. After a few agonizing seconds and you having to step on your own foot so you wouldn't run off, she slowly nods, "I understand. And like I said before, it won't affect our friendship if you don't want it to."
You're having trouble believing this. How well she's taking it and her lack of reaction to it.
She stands up and opens her arms to you. You let out a long sigh of relief and get up, taking the step into her arms. Absolutely nothing changes in the way she hugs you. She still squeezes you tight and holds you a few seconds after.
"So," she pulls away and tentatively asks, "are you...gay or bisexual... Or is it just me?"
You exhale and sigh, "I don't know. I'm not really...I think it's just you."
"Lucky me," she giggles and prances to the kitchen, "I was thinking key lime pie for dessert. Pretty much because, apart from oatmeal, I can make it. Sound good?"
"It's fine." You're perplexed by her nonchalance. But you're sure someone tells her that they're in love with her almost everyday. You just expected more of a response.
She begins to get out pans and ingredients for the pie. As she's juicing the limes, she pauses and looks at you, "You know, so much of my high school experience now makes sense."
You nod, "Not only was I a bitch but a bitch with the emotional complexity of a six year old boy."
You watch her move around the kitchen with a grace that doesn't need to be practiced. She's thoughtfully preparing dessert while humming to herself. It doesn't take long for her to finish and you help her set the table before you both sit opposite each other on the table.
"Now that I've had some time to process what you've told me, I think we should talk," she looks across the table at you.
You're instantly nervous again, "Uh, okay."
"When did these feelings start?" she asks, taking a bite of her pie.
Your fork pauses above the pie. You look down at it and poke it with your fork. It's a little soft because it didn't get to chill, but she seems to be liking it. "You know that speech you gave me, in the hallway right after I got pregnant?" You glance up at her to see her nod before looking back down at your pie, "That's when I knew. I'm sure there were feelings before that, but…that's what I knew."
"So Puck and Finn and Sam were…" She prods.
You sigh, "Puck was just a friend…and my child's father obviously. Finn was my ticket to prom queen which…you know how that turned out." She softly smiles at you and nods. "I actually liked Sam, but was blinded by my insane need for popularity."
She takes another bite of her pie and then rests her chin in her hand, "It was really brave of you to tell me Quinn. It must have been hard."
You exhale with a small smile, "You have no idea."
"I said it before and I'll say it again, as many times as you need me to," she looks you dead in the eye, "We're still friends. No matter what. Best friends. Even if you decide that these feelings were just jealousy over my insanely amazing voice."
You laugh and it puts you at ease. You're grateful for how well she's taking it.
In fact, she's taking it so well, that absolutely nothing changes. The hugs and the cuddling stay exactly the same. Brittany and Santana are weirder about it when you four go to dinner Sunday night.
So you fall back into your old routine. Sometimes you forget that you told her. Sometimes when you look at her a little too long she giggles or lets out a playful wink. You don't fool yourself into believing that it's anything, but friendship because she is still going out with David. She just doesn't tell you that she goes out on date anymore. She just says she's going out and asks if she wants you to bring anything back for you.
On one such evening, you're sitting on the couch, on the phone with your mom while going over some of your work. You've had a good day at work and it doesn't bother you as much as it usually does that Rachel's on a date with David. You may just be getting over this thing.
There's a knock on the door that definitely isn't expected. "Hold on mom." You answer the door and find a guy wearing a blue button down work shirt and dirty jeans. He's holding a toolbox in his hand. He let's out a nervous, crooked smile that reaches his green eyes, "Leaky sink?"
Your mouth drops open. You've only called them about a hundred times about coming to fix it and the handyman shows up at seven o'clock on a weeknight. You let him in and nod. "It's only been a week and a half."
"I'm sorry," his head tilt a little as he makes his way to the kitchen, his shaggy dirty blonde hair falling into his eyes. "We've been backed up all week. I'm actually off the clock now. You've just been so insistent."
You smile softly at him, "I'm sorry. It's been a long week. Do you need anything before you get started?"
"No thanks," he smiles back and puts his toolbox down on the floor by the sink.
"Okay, let me know if you do," you reply before walking back to the living room, "Okay mom, so what were you saying?"
"I'm coming to visit you soon," she says like you're supposed to be surprised and happy about it.
You're definitely surprised, "Oh…great. Yay." It sounds forced, even to you.
"Quinnie, I haven't see you almost a month and a half," she explains.
"I know," you sigh, "I'm glad you're coming. I'm sure Rachel will be happy that you're here to keep her company during the day too."
"Rachel Berry?" you roll your eyes as she launches into how she listened to Rachel sing Christmas Carols on her Broadway Christmas album last night (even thought Christmas is months away) and how she has such an amazing voice. You muse that there has got to be something about Rachel Berry and Fabray women. You're going to have to introduce Rachel to your sister someday to see if she falls in love too.
After a few minutes, you tell your mom you have to work and to let you know when she's coming. She gives you a date, which is next weekend before telling you she loves you and hanging up.
You sigh and get up off of the couch. You need to make sure the handyman isn't stealing dishes or anything. Instead you find him packing up his things.
"All done already?" you ask, standing at the entrance of the kitchen.
He looks up at you, "No. I have to go find a washer for it. I put tape on it for now, which I know is ugly, but it's keep it from leaking until I get back."
"Which will be?" you prod.
"Tomorrow," he smiles and stand up, dusting his hands on his jeans, "It was nice to meet you Ms. Berry."
"Fabray," you correct him, "I'm…Ms. Berry's roommate."
He smiles again, this time you notice a dimple in his right cheek, "Then it's nice to meet you Ms. Fabray. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon to fix your sink."
"Thanks," you smile back. He seems to be sort of flirting with you, but it's been so long it's hard for you to tell. "Um, Quinn. Call me Quinn."
"I'm Ethan," he extends his hand and you shake it. "I'll see you tomorrow?" he asks, sounding kinda hopeful.
You nod, "If you're here in the afternoon yeah, I'll be here."
"Awesome," he grins again, "Well…bye." With that he walks out.
You smile after him. He was awkward, but in a cute sort of way. "Hmm," you say to yourself and go back to your work. If he was flirting maybe it'll help get your sink fixed faster.
When Rachel gets home, she doesn't look happy. When you ask her what's wrong, she puts on a smile and asks you about your day, completely dodging your question. You tell her that it was uneventful and the handyman will be back tomorrow to fix the sink. She lets out a long sigh with a forced smile. She tells you she's going to bed because she's tired and she's going to the theatre at three the next day to clean out the old flowers and fan mail from her dressing room and asks if you want to go with her so she can show you around. She looks hopeful and you agree. With a hug, she's off to bed and you're still on the couch working.
At one a.m. you're not sure what's keeping you awake. You're exhausted and the bed is so comfortable. You roll over one last time and sigh, hoping it will get you to sleep.
"Quinn?"
You frown and sit up. You barely heard her over the shuffle of your sheets. "Rach?" You can see her standing in the doorway of your bedroom. You've had dreams that started like this. Of course they ended in a naked glistening mess of your intertwined post-orgasmic bodies.
"Would it um…" she paused, her voice is tiny and it immediately concerns you, "Would it be pushing the friend line if I asked to lay down with you for a little while? I had another very vivid dream and it frightened me."
You can't help, but smile. You scoot over to the far side of the bed, "C'mere."
You hear her let out, what you've grown to know is, a sigh of relief. She easily slides into your bed and settles under the covers with a whispered, "Thank you."
She snuggles into your like she always does and you hold her like you always do. It feels so natural, but at the same time it makes your heart race. When you feel her drift off to sleep, you close your own eyes trying to get to sleep.
Your sleep doesn't last long because your phone rings not quite an hour later. You snatch it off of the nightstand so it won't wake Rachel up. When you see the name on the screen you know you have to answer, so you quickly and quietly slip out of the bed. You close your bedroom door behind you and flop down on the couch. "Hello?"
"Heeey Quinn," Puck slurs into the phone. You know he's drunk and you're usually his go to drunk dial because you have some weird bond where you're on the border of being best friends and occasionally enemies.
When he's done talking about…whatever he talked about (you weren't listening), you're exhausted. So much so that you fall asleep on the couch before you can even think about going back to bed.
"You know, if I make you uncomfortable at all you can tell me," She looks at you from her perch on the arm of the couch. She rolls her water bottle between her hands.
You were only vaguely aware that she was there because you weren't even really awake yet. You see her from under the arm that's covering your barely functioning eyes. You stretch, the haze of your dream slowly lifting. You roll onto your back and ask in your ever-articulate way, "Huh?"
She looks deeply thoughtful in her half-zipped workout jacket and running shorts. You run your hands over your face trying to keep your eyes off of her legs. If she's ready to go work out you need to start getting ready. You forget she said something and that you asked her to repeat it.
She follows you into the bathroom right on your heels, which prompts you to remember that she said something.
"What did you say?" you pick up your toothbrush figuring you can get ready while she talks. It's happened before. She told you everything that annoyed her with the rest of her cast a few days ago while you were getting ready. She even called you after you left to finish her rant. When you got to work you found a few texts with a caveat that she still loves the cast and thanks you for listening.
She leans on the doorframe with the look of a sad puppy. Once you brush your teeth and she hasn't said anything you frown. "Rach, what's wrong?"
"I said if I make you uncomfortable, you can tell me," she sighs, her eyes on the ground, "It won't hurt my feelings."
You frown deepens, but you not, "I will."
She looks up at you expectantly and you search her poised face. You know you need to say something but you can't find what she wants, "Thank you?"
Her face morphs to something akin to frustration. She sighs heavily. "You could have just told me to go back to my bed."
You're so beyond confused right now. You pull your hair out of the mess of a ponytail it's in and run your hand through it, to buy some time. You run through what she's said as the coffee maker beeps.
The beep seems to signal all of your disjointed thoughts to connect and a smile jumps to your face. "Puck called me at two this morning." It's her turn to be confused. You pause to see if she can figure it out. After a few seconds you add, "I didn't want to wake you up so I went to the couch and fell asleep on the phone."
You watch a deep blush creep up her cheeks in the mirror. "Oh." She breaths, "Well..." She trails off and disappears.
You give up on your hair and strip down to your underwear to get dressed.
She appears again when you step out of your closet fully dressed. She's sitting on your bed with coffee in her hand. She stands and offers it to you.
"Thank you," you smile and take it.
"I apologize for accusing you of being...covertly uncomfortable. I know I'm an extremely physically affectionate person, and some times I cross some lines even with people who..."
"Aren't in love with you?" you wiggle your eyebrows.
She smiles and glows every time you bring it up and you love it. Even if to her it's just extreme flattery. She smiles and playfully banters back. "Well who isn't." You laugh and sip your coffee. She made it just how you like it. Her smile fades a smidge conveying seriousness, "I just want you to be honest with me."
"I've never been dishonest with you." You add with a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Never may be reaching, but recently for sure.
She steps up to you and hugs you, "I'm sorry I freaked out."
"It's okay," You rub her back, "Our situation is...weird."
"I like it," she murmurs, "I'm glad you're my best friend-roommate-other."
"Other?"
"There's no category for you my dear," she puts on a southern drawl. She caresses your hand in between the two of hers and looks down at them. "I'm glad you're here okay? Ecstatic even and more than anything I want this to work."
You nod and let out a breathy, "Me too." You love this torture that you go through just to be around her. At first her touch seems your undoing but when it's gone you need it back. She helped you get out of Lima. She helped you out of your failed marriage. She helped you find peace with yourself and who you love and how.
"It will work through," you grin wickedly, "You know why?"
"Why?" she lets go of your hand.
"Cause we're the three best friends that anyone could have," you start to sing, "And we'll never, never, never, ever leave each other."
Her fingers immediately find her ears and she screeches, "Quinn Fabray!"
You continue singing the same lines as loud as you can and follow her as she tries to get away. She starts singing "La la la la la," on repeat. She's still running from you with her fingers in her ears, but you can tell that she's smiling. Okay, part of you is still the emotional six-year-old boy who likes getting stupid songs stuck in her head and dumping slushies on her to show how much to like her.
Finally she turns to you in the middle of the living room and turns the volume up. She leans forward and you match her. You're practically yelling the song at her and she's doing the same thing, with huge smiles on your faces. When you can see how there are flecks of gold mingled in the brown of her eyes, you decided that you should take a step back. You put your hands up and surrender because if you didn't you would have kissed her and that would have made the roommate thing awkward.
She takes her fingers out of her ears and smiles at you. You can see the caring in your eyes and it gives you goosebumps. "You should probably get going. We can color and build with blocks when you get home."
You laugh and nod. You're ready for your day now. Being with her is just plain exhilarating. Who needs coffee when you have a daily dose of Rachel Berry.
You grab your shoes and chug the rest of your coffee before heading for the door. She's standing next to the door with a muffin in her hand. You roll your eyes but secretly love it. As you pass, you pluck it out of her hand and shoot out the door.
"Have a good day at work honey!" She yells after you.
You duck your head as she laughs. All of your neighbors probably think you're both nuts.
