Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: haha gllover22—your review was priceless (:
And now for what everyone's been waiting for… (props if you catch the Miss Congeniality quote)
Attraction
They say attraction between strangers is like the pull of magnets.
But that's not exactly that fitting, is it?
Real life isn't when your eyes meet across the room, or the park, or the crowd, meeting in a gaze so furiously intense that you don't even notice you're moving towards each other until your bodies connect in some kind of dance, some kind of movement.
No.
That's just ridiculous.
Attraction is not magnetic, it has nothing to do with opposite poles tugging towards each other endlessly.
No.
If anything, it's electric. But not in that cheesy way, where there are sparks during a first kiss. Rather, it's the utterly helpless knowledge that there is a plausible possibility you may just end up electrocuted by the end of the encounter.
Attraction is not pretty streaks of colorful light.
It is charges being exchanged, circuits shortening.
It is a risk, it is exhilarating.
Rachel stood at the edge of the shore, surf flooding by her ankles as she sunk further into the sloppy sand. It was early; the sun had risen an hour ago but was still sitting pretty low in the east.
The day was giving her jitters. She couldn't sleep in, and figured she might as well get back to waking up near dawn and meeting the break of day with a few laps. It used to keep her energized, centered on her mission.
But the blonde.
Ever since she'd moved in, Rachel's routine had flipped. As had her focus.
She could admit it. The mission wasn't very far off track, but she was behind where she would like to be. But then again, that's why she was trained to be flexible. To take on the curveballs thrown at her.
Because no matter how well planned a mission is, you can expect that the unexpected will force some difficult maneuvers.
Tossing the towel onto the sand a few feet away from the outgoing tide, the brunette tied up her hair and jogged a few steps, jackknifing into the water. It had warmed a little since her last swim, which was nice. But it was nowhere near the humid morning air she'd left behind.
Perhaps was for the best, though. Her mind did always clear up with a splash of cold. And she still had to figure out what to do about Anderson.
She waited for the hallway light to turn off, for the sluggish footsteps up the stairs that would indicate the foster mother's departure for bed, surrender to sleep. A teenaged Rachel leaned over the cot, yanking out a ragged copy of the book that would clear her fathers' names.
She had one chapter left, and so far it had yet to turn around.
In fact, it had none of the information she had given the bastard with the bowtie.
The brunette threw the blanket over her head and flicked on a flashlight she'd stashed under the pillow. Quickly scanning the unfaithful words of betrayal, she reached the end of the final sentence.
It was not significant.
It was some future warning, of gays, terrorism, a cementing age of conservatism.
Five hundred pages, and not a single sentence or phrase appealing to the chance her fathers had a single trace of humanity. That they were actually people, not the heartless beasts the media had categorized them. Her fathers had officially been turned into real life boogiemen.
All thanks to that fucking coward.
She clenched her teeth and ripped off the covers, ignoring the flashlight as it hit the floor and broke. The brunette stormed into the hallway, reaching into the bowl above the cabinets and clutching a set of matches. She hauled a trashcan into the middle of the room, dropped the book into it. She lit the match, dropping it onto the newspaper below it, tossed earlier. Flames grew, licking at the sides of the cover until the pages caught on. It burned from the inside out, blackening first at its core.
She stood over the smoldering smoke as the fire alarm sounded. She stood over the book as the alarm blared, as hurried footsteps ushered all the other children from the shared bedroom. She stood over it as its words, lies, infamy turned to ash.
As Rachel turned her head to take in a breath of air, she knew what she had to do. She'd keep the promise her younger self had made—to burn Anderson in her own construction of Hell, but she wouldn't do it right away. After all, it was only fair to give the man a chance to redeem himself. She'd have her revenge depending on how he handled the purgatory.
Clouds had rolled in since her swim. Rachel glanced up at the sky, making a mental note to check the weather. If it was overcast, she could still go sailing—it might even mean less boat traffic for them to watch out for. If it was raining the water might get as flat as a bathtub, but something told her Quinn probably wouldn't exactly dig it.
She tucked her wet hair into the motorcycle helmet and straddled the bike, smiling as it roared awake beneath her. It might have been for appearances at first, but she was really starting to enjoy the thing.
As she zipped through the quiet streets, Rachel ran through her to-do list for the day. She was on her way to Brittany, who'd volunteered to watch the Fabray mansion for the first shift, particularly because Rachel had her hands full of Quinn Fabray anyway—not in that, way (not yet, anyway, not ever)—and she assumed the blonde wouldn't be too keen on catching her essentially stalking her family.
But stalking was such an ugly word.
They were watching them. Supervising, really. Because without it, who knew how much dirt and blood the Fabrays would get on their hands.
Shaking her head slightly, she pulled into the driveway and revved the bike up the hill, gaping at the small cottage. The brunette hadn't really thought about what kind of home Brittany would live in, but she expected something neat and tidy, big. She really should have known it would be bold.
The cottage wasn't special in the architecture itself, but it was painted the brightest yellow known to man—the kind of color you find on neon shirts, the kind that rivals the sun. She briefly wondered what would happen if someone took a black light to the outside of the house and hoped the inside wasn't as…audacious.
She twisted the keys and slipped off her helmet, glancing up at the sky once more as if daring it to rain down on the leather seats. Rachel huffed when no signals answered and mumbled to herself as she made her way through the door and into the tall blonde's living room, where she found the woman bent over the computer screen. Luckily, the walls were more pastels. With duck pillows. Rachel bit her lip to stop the smile that threatened to show.
Instead, the brunette padded across the rug and plopped down on the sofa beside her, causing her genius friend to jump and juggle the laptop sitting in her lap as she settled back into her position. "Nice paint job on the house."
"Jeeze, R!" She let out a sharp exhale. "Knock a little, would ya?"
"Lock your doors." Rachel shrugged. She nodded towards the computer. "Is that it?"
Brittany rolled her eyes. "If you mean the brilliantly indestructible, waterproof laptop you had me access the cameras from, by 'it,' then yes. It is."
Rachel quirked an eyebrow. "What's up with you? You're never cranky."
"I'm not cranky."
"Oh, really?" The brunette eyed her friend. "Is it this? Watching the Fabrays? Look, I told you, no matter what you promised Daddy, if this becomes too much for you step down –"
Brittany narrowed her eyes. "Stop thinking I'm some oblivious sidekick. This stuff isn't new to me, and just because I don't like all the collateral damage and frowns you're causing people doesn't mean it's too much for me. I've handled worse. You forget I was there when you ducks got caught in a monsoon. I was there and you weren't even old enough to leave the nest, Cap."
Rachel blinked, spine stiffening as she straightened up. "Look, I didn't mean to imply that you weren't capable, I just…you're clearly not your usual self, is all I'm trying to say."
"Yeah, you could call it girl trouble."
"Santana?"
"Let's not…just, not now." The tall blonde dropped the computer on her lap and got up to head into the kitchen, raising her voice to be heard through the room. "There hasn't been anything big happening, mostly sleeping and eating and reading reports."
The brunette's eyes followed her friend until she was out of sight, wondering what had happened. At the observation, she made a mental note to ask the Latina later and focused on the screen, which was divided into four parts, each empty angle switching every few minutes. Two were trained on people. Judy sat in the master bedroom, on the edge of the bed with her neck craned to the side. Rachel didn't have to be there to know what she was looking at—her cottage was just outside their balcony, the woman was probably thinking about her daughter.
Russell was already awake and sipping morning coffee while skimming the paper in their dining room.
"Have you gone through the audio?" Rachel called out.
Brittany reappeared with a mug of hot chocolate and sat down across from her. "Yep. Ran a program on it that transcribed the audio to manuscript, so we've got it all down in writing if we need it." She paused tilting her head. "Or if it's said too quietly for us to hear."
The brunette smiled, looking back down at the cameras. "You're brilliant."
"See, you know you couldn't do this without me."
Rachel snorted. "And so humble, too."
Brittany hid her small smile behind the mug as she took a sip. "So, what's your game plan for today?"
The brunette flicked through the settings and found the manuscript, scanning it as she answered. "Quinn's never been sailing, so we'll go do that in the afternoon."
When met with a long silence, she glanced up and found a pair of waggling eyebrows.
Rachel rolled her eyes. "What now?"
"I asked for the reve-genda plan. I didn't realize we'd switched to wooing the Fabray's daughter."
The brunette huffed. "Whatever. I just… I'm using the opportunity to get closer so I can–"
" –get in her pants," Brittany interrupted.
Rachel ignored her comment, " –convince her to forgive her mother so she's out of the house and closer to her family, which means that I'm closer with her family and the evidence we need to take her down."
Brittany chuckled. "Whatever you say, boss."
"Besides," she said, "Sam's still in the picture."
The other woman shrugged. "I love my cousin, but have you seen their relationship? It's been over for a while. Sam's just stuck it out 'cause he's a big golden retriever."
Rachel raised her eyebrow. "Oddly fitting."
Brittany nodded, glancing at her watch. "So does Quinn know you're here?"
"Yeah, I left her a note in the kitchen."
"The kitchen?"
"Yes." Rachel's brow furrowed.
"Most people put it on the person's door or beside their alarm clock."
The brunette shook her head. "Quinn's oblivious to her surroundings until she gets food."
Brittany stared at her.
Rachel, getting self-conscious, returned it with a glare. "What?"
"You!" A smile grew from the corners of her mouth. "You actually like her, don't you? That's why you won't do the girlfriend-plan that you started out with. That's why you want Sam to stay. That's why you want her out of your house."
"What? Don't be ridiculous."
"You like her!"
"Brittany."
"You think she's gorgeous…"
"Brittany."
"You want to kiss her…"
"Brittany."
"Hug her and looove her…"
"I'm leaving now."
"To go get your penguin?"
"Bye!"
As she shut the front door, she heard a loud "GOOD LUCK!" and shook her head, unable to keep a small smile from crossing her lips.
Damn blondes. Uncontrollable, the whole bunch of them.
Rachel slid open the beach shed's door, smiling at the old boat that sat inside, cover left untouched from when her family had put it into storage after disaster hit. She was surprised to find it, remaining despite the changes in ownership. She thought one of them surely would have sold it, or at least used it. But then again, it had mostly been rich adults that spent their summers here. They were probably more interested in wining and dining than tugging ropes and tying knots.
She pulled off the canvas covering it, coughing as dust flew out from its settled place. Quinn was supposed to meet her on the shore within the half hour; she figured it would give her some time to set up the old 420 sailboat without the blonde getting in her way. When she returned home from Brittany's, Quinn had just sat down to eat, still in her pjs and sporting a wild case of bed head.
Rachel smiled at the memory, before reaching out to grab the trailer hitch. Hefting it up, she dragged the sailboat out of the shed and onto the sand.
From the porch, Quinn chuckled at the sight of the tiny brunette hauling a boat out on her own. She headed for the stairs when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Pausing, the blonde looked down at it and saw her fiancé's face grinning back at her. She sighed and leaned against the porch railing and answered the call.
"Hi, Sam."
"Quinn, hey!"
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, I just wanted to check in. How are you? Back with Mama Fabray?"
Quinn's gaze drifted from the waves back to the brunette, who had finished inspecting the boat and was heading back into the little shack. "Not even close."
There was a quiet sigh. "Q-pie, I know you're hurt but she's hurting, too. Just give her a chance to –"
"To what, Sam?" she snapped. "To lie it all away? Sweep it under the rug?"
"That's not –"
"That's what we do. We're Fabrays. We forget, but never forgive." She clenched her jaw.
"I'm sorry," Sam said. "I'll be there soon. Can we talk when I get back?"
I think we better, Quinn thought, but couldn't find it in herself to voice it. Instead, she steered the conversation to less choppy waters. "How did your gig go?"
"Great! I really think we hit it big," he said. "I was gonna wait to tell you this but I don't think I can—we got a recommendation from the guy in charge here, and he'd even give us a hand in NYC if he couldn't get us to stay in L.A."
"L.A., huh?"
"Or NYC," he quickly clarified. "So what are you up to today?"
"Rachel's taking me sailing," Quinn responded. The brunette exited the shed with a folded white sail under her arm, dropping it into the boat. She walked back to the front and continued to lug it the rest of the way down the beach. The blonde watched as Rachel's arm muscles flexed under the load—flexed, not strained. She wondered how much strength the other woman had, and how she had gotten it.
She made a mental note to ask later. Maybe Rachel would teach her some exercises. Images of a certain brunette, clad in a sports bra and cotton shorts and dripping with sweat crossed her mind. Of course, she'd need help with the positioning of some. The brunette would have to run her hands along the blonde, straightening a leg here, bending a leg there, adjusting hips—aligning hips…
"Babe? You still there?"
"What?" Quinn blinked, shaking her head. What!?
"I was just saying, I ask you to sail all the time and you say no. What's changed your mind?"
"Uhm, I dunno." She bit her lip. "It's just the whole, you know. I need a distraction."
"Gotcha! We can go when I get back! I have this crazy beautiful boat, she's –"
"You know what, Sam? I kind have to go, Rachel's flagging me over." The brunette in fact was preoccupied with looping the sail, unaware she was even being watched. "I'll talk to you later."
"Okay, I –"
She ended the call as soon as the phone was away from her ear, following the path from the back porch to the shoreline. She found Rachel humming as she hoisted up the sail, boat now half submerged in water, still on its trailer.
The woman had changed from her sweats and t-shirt earlier into a bikini top and shorts. Quinn's gaze lingered on the tan upper thighs, before she cleared her throat and blushed. "So, we're sailing."
Rachel, who had heard the footsteps in the sand behind her, kept her back turned, smirking slightly at the waver in the blonde's voice. "We're sailing."
Quinn rocked back on her heels. "I…is it safe?"
The brunette snorted and bent over the edge to tie the knot that would hold the sail in place. She turned, gesturing for Quinn to join her. "Of course it's safe. Here, I'll give you a beginner's crash course, okay?"
The blonde nodded, shifting closer to her friend's side.
"Starboard is right, port left, bow front, stern back." Rachel pointed to the back. "See the black part attached there, in the water?"
Quinn looked over the edge. "Yeah?"
"That's the rudder. The handle that is attached to it is the tiller, it controls steering—that's what I'll be doing." She picked up a rope and started looping it through hooks below the sail. "The sail we have is the main sail, the small one in the front the jib—we won't use it today. Since this rope controls the main sail, it's called the main sheet. Get it?"
Quinn rolled her eyes. "Makes sense."
Rachel smiled, tying an eight knot at the end of the rigging. "Good, because that's your job."
"Wait, what?" Quinn's eyes widened. "Isn't that…important?"
"Sorta, yeah."
"So why am I in charge of it?"
"Relax," Rachel said, giving the other woman's hand a light squeeze. "I'll be right there next to you if you need it. But I'm pretty sure you can handle it. It's just pulling the sail tight to hold the wind or letting it out if we start to keel too much."
"Okay," Quinn said, unconvinced. "Keel?"
"Tipping."
The brunette let go of the blonde's hand to point to the middle of the floor, oblivious to the horrified emotion flickering across her features. "That thing is the centerboard. It keeps the boat balanced. We'll snap it in place once we're in deeper water."
Quinn nodded, still stuck on the tipping—wouldn't that mean they'd fall out? Were boats supposed to tip?
Rachel nudged her. "Come on, let's get some life jackets."
Quinn trailed behind her. "Tipping?"
The brunette laughed. "It's completely normal."
"But…what if we flip?"
"Capsize?" Rachel glanced back, flashing a wicked grin. "Then we drown."
"Rachel!"
"Come on, Q," she joked. "Do you really think I'd take you if it was that dangerous?"
Quinn shot her a pointed glare. "You own a motorcycle."
"I'm not even going to go into how stereotypical you're being," Rachel said, reaching for the life vests inside the shed. "Here, try this one on. Also, if you have a phone or anything that shouldn't get wet, just leave it in here."
"Why?" the blonde asked, but taking off her t-shirt and leaving the phone anyway.
"Just in case," the brunette said, smiling innocently.
"Just in case we flip, right?" Quinn deadpanned.
Rachel shrugged, clicking the buckle shut. "It's really not scary. The boat tips and you're in the water and the boat is upside down beside you before you even know it."
The blonde narrowed her eyes. "You're not helping."
"We won't capsize!"
"Uh-huh. I'll believe you when I'm back on land, still dry."
Rachel laughed, leading the way back to the sailboat. "Challenge accepted."
Quinn stood off to the side as the brunette pushed the boat further into the water, letting it float from its trailer. When it did, she motioned for the blonde to help her hold it from drifting away as she pulled the wheels back onto the beach.
Assisting the blond onto the small boat, she spun it so its bow was pointing to deeper water. She ran a few steps and shoved, lunging into the boat as it rushed outward. It swayed to the side, towards a buoy. "Oh, one more thing, Quinn." Rachel reached around her to drop the centerboard in place.
The blonde pulled in the sail like Rachel had told her to do. She glanced up. "Yeah?"
"Duck."
"What?"
"Now!"
Quinn squatted in the center of the boat as the sail swung over her suddenly, the boat switching directions. Rachel shifted to the other side, and the blonde followed her lead, assuming it was safe to straighten up again. She smacked the other woman in the arm. "What the hell was that?"
"A tack—turn. You have to duck or the steel bar above us whacks us in the head—which is probably why it's called the boom."
The blonde rolled her head, muttering to herself. "I'm never going to survive this."
Rachel laughed. "Don't be so dramatic, Q." She straightened out their course. "Look, the water's almost flat. There's a light breeze, but it's strong enough to keep us going. It's the perfect day!"
"Yeah, except it's cloudy."
"Nothing pleases you, huh?"
Quinn's forehead furrowed. "What? Of course things do."
The brunette quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? Like what?"
The blonde's nose crinkled. She shifted her gaze from the tiny woman beside her to the small waves chopping ahead of them. "Plenty of things." A drop of water hit her cheek and she wiped it off, looking up at the dense clouds. "Is it raining?"
Rachel shook her head. "It's probably just the ocean spray. Sometimes it kicks up when we slice through a wave."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah," she confirmed, glancing ahead of them for any obstacles. A boat was coming their way, though it was far. She couldn't hear its motor yet. Still, she prepared to tack soon. "Besides, I checked the radar this morning. Nothing on the forecast."
"But it is New England…" Quinn trailed off. She tightened her grip on the rope. "What if the inside fills up with rain?"
"It can't." Rachel pointed to a hole in the stern, by the rudder. A small pool of water was sloshing by it, a cup floating around. "That's the drain, it's pretty good at releasing water out. If we really get stuck, we bail it out with the cup."
"So it's okay if it rains?"
"It's okay if it rains," Rachel repeated, smiling. A drop of water hit the sail above them. "Sometimes it's even better. The surface looks like glass—you wouldn't believe you were still out on the ocean if you didn't know so."
"Really?" Quinn glanced out over the Sound, noticing the water had almost stilled, though there were ripples where the wind hit it. "Kind of like that?"
The brunette glanced around them. "Uhm, almost. It gets even flatter. Except where the rain hits it." A few more drops pelted the area around them, one catching Rachel on the nose. She scooted closer to the blonde. "Okay, don't freak out, but I think it's drizzling."
"I told you!" Quinn exclaimed, turning towards the brunette. Their knees grazed. "I just hope it doesn't pour."
"Me too." The sailboat's speed slowed, catching less wind. She readjusted the angle. "Pull the sail in a little?"
Quinn obliged, the sail growing taunt again. "Better?"
Rachel nodded. "So, how are you so far? This isn't too bad, is it?"
"No," the blonde replied, dipping her head too look at the outside of the bow. "It's not bad at all. I actually wish we could go a little faster. The way we skim through the water is pretty…unlike anything else."
"We'll have to go on a windier day," Rachel offered. "It'll give us a bit more to work with for speed."
"I'd like that," Quinn said softly, eyes flicking back to the brunette.
Rachel gave her a small smile. The rain had picked up a little, just enough to make itself noticeable. The blonde looked up, opening her mouth and sticking out her tongue to catch a few drops. Rachel chuckled, and at the sound of a dull roar, nudged Quinn back to attention. "We're going to tack again."
"You mean turn?"
"Yep!"
"Oh dear lord," the blonde mumbled, quickly ducking and slipping to the other side as the boom swung above her. Rachel looked behind them, expecting to see the motorboat she'd spotted a distance away but saw nothing but the sea and a few docks at shore. She frowned. "That's weird."
"What?" The blonde settled into her seat, letting out the sail a little as the boat tipped slightly.
Rachel scanned the horizon around them. "I just – I'm sure it's nothing. I just saw a boat earlier and the roar – did you hear a roar?"
"No?"
"Huh," the brunette angled their path so they skimmed closer to the shore. "I heard a rumbling and thought it was a boat motor, but there's nothing around and I don't hear it anymore."
"I think you're just paranoid." The blonde smiled, poking her friend in the side. "Now look who is getting nervous for no reason."
Rachel swatted at her and rolled her eyes. "I'm not nervous."
"Uh-huh."
Another grumble rolled across the Sound. Quinn sat up straighter. Rachel tilted her head, exasperated. "How about now—did you hear that noise, Miss Smarty-pants?"
Quinn pressed her lips together, ignoring the jab. "Was that…"
"It might have been a car," Rachel offered. "We're still…kind of close to the shore."
"Right," the blonde nodded, "and sound carries over water."
"Exactly."
A light flash—brief enough to mistake as a blink—lighted the clouds and they exchanged a glance. Waiting. A louder, more distinctive sound followed and cut through their doubts.
"Okay," Rachel said, exhaling and trying to collect her nerves. "So it's thunder."
"We're in a thunderstorm," Quinn replied, blankly.
The brunette reached with her free hand to squeeze the other woman's arm. Reassuring her, "Hey, it's okay, we'll make it. We're close to the shore."
Thunder rippled overhead, making them both jump.
Quinn swallowed, shifting closer to the brunette.
"Well, okay. Shit. That was a little close."
"We're in the middle of the ocean."
"We are not –"
"With a big metal pole."
"Well, it's a mast…" Rachel eyed the tensed women beside her, worried.
"I don't think terminology matters to a lightening bolt."
"Touché," the brunette said. "Sorry. Look, we're going to –" another roar interrupted the pair "–be fine!"
"We're in the middle of water with a metal pole."
Rachel glanced toward the shore again. There was only eight seconds between each clap of thunder and quickly decreasing; they wouldn't make it back to the shore before it was overhead. Rachel normally would have taken the risk, but…
Thunder crashed over the Sound again.
"We're gonna get electrocuted. We're gonna die. We're out in the open with a big fat metal pole, and we're gonna die."
"We are not going to die – Quinn, Quinn!" She slapped the blonde in the face.
Quinn cupped her cheek and, registering what had happened, turned on Rachel, growling. "What the hell was that for?"
"You weren't responding," Rachel said. "And I need your attention for what we're about to do."
"Well you didn't have to slap me," Quinn retorted, eyes still flashing.
The brunette slipped her hand on the blonde's thigh, ignoring the growing storm around them. "Look. I'm sorry. But I need you to take a deep breath, okay? Calm down. We are not going to die."
"How do you know that?"
"Just do what I say, okay?"
Quinn glared at her, still angry. "Okay."
Rachel waited a beat and then leaned back, steering the sailboat into a better angle. "Pull in the sail as much as you can."
Quinn's forehead furrowed in confusion but she did as she was told. After a moment, the boat began to keel. The blonde's eyes widened. "Uh, Rach?"
"Don't let go." Rachel reached over the blonde's lap to pull up the centerboard. She met Quinn's bewildered gaze. "We're going to capsize, in a second. It'll happen before you know what's happening."
"What?"
"Ready?"
Quinn shook her head, body tensing. "No!"
"Too bad!"
The boat, centerboard no longer aiding it in staying upright, suddenly lurched and flipped over. Rachel and Quinn were thrown into the water, which was luckily still calm. They sunk under the water and resurfaced quickly. Rachel blinked away the salt water. She spotted the blonde beside her, sputtering water. "Quinn, are you okay?"
"This water is fucking cold." The blonde shot her a glare. "You said we wouldn't capsize."
"I know, I'm sorry, but we have to get underneath the boat." Without another word, the brunette dipped below the surface, making her way under the hull of the old boat. Quinn huffed, aggravated with the brunette.
Nevertheless, she followed her lead, popping up next to her in the inside of the boat, where a pocket of air had formed. She looked at the brunette, who was blowing bubbles against the surface. "Rachel."
The woman grimaced. "Uhm. Sorry, Quinn. I couldn't think of anything else to do. This way we're safe – the mast is in the water and we're a lot less likely to be struck. I wouldn't have capsized us if we didn't have to, I promise."
Quinn had to admit, it was a smart move. But it still didn't mean she was off the hook.
Rachel gave her a smirk. "But you have to agree, it was kind of fun, huh?"
Thunder drowned out the blonde's humorless snort. "Did you even check the radar?"
"Of course." The brunette frowned. "Quinn, if I had known we wouldn't –"
"I should have known better, I shouldn't have come. It was cloudy!"
"Quinn," Rachel protested.
"No, I should have—we should have known better." Quinn crossed her arms, despite being up to her neck in water.
"Summer storms come out of nowhere. You know that."
"Still. The signs were there."
Rachel placed a hand on Quinn's shoulder. "It's no one's fault."
"I shouldn't have come."
The brunette rolled her eyes, letting her hand splash back into the water. "Well then, why did you?"
Quinn's eyes raised from the water to meet Rachel's. "That's a great question."
"Then answer it."
"I didn't really have a choice, did I?"
"I asked if you wanted to go sailing. There was plenty of time to say no."
"Oh, I was supposed to say no?"
"If you didn't want to!"
"After all the help you've given me? I couldn't!"
"You could have!"
Quinn huffed.
Rachel narrowed her eyes. "Besides, I thought you said you liked sailing. I mean, before the whole storm thing."
"Not the point," the blonde muttered.
It wasn't until Rachel's knee knocked against the blonde's that she realized how close they had gotten. She didn't think it was completely from drifting, either. She let out a sigh, softening her gaze. "Quinn."
The blonde eyed her sudden turn of tone suspiciously.
"I'm sorry, okay? If I had known it would end like this, I wouldn't have taken you. Also, sorry about the slap. It was a little uncalled for."
"A little?" Quinn said, snorting, and they both chuckled.
Rachel pushed further. "But, why are you so…pissed? It can't just be sailing stress."
"You'd be surprised."
A clap of muffled thunder fell overhead.
"Come on," Rachel said. "If it was something else I did, I didn't mean to –"
"It, it's nothing you did," Quinn said, shaking her head. Wet droplets scattered off her wet shaggy hair. "It's nothing. I."
"What?"
"Nothing! Just, forget it."
"I'm just saying–"
"I just. And you...Forget it."
"But then how will I know if I'm–"
"Stop!" The blonde's eyes avoided her.
Rachel frowned. "Quinn, you're being–"
"Rachel."
"– completely ridiculous, you know–"
Before she could urge the blonde to continue, to urge her to open up, there was an open mouth against hers. Rachel's arms flew out to the sides of the inside to brace herself and hold up their weight as Quinn's arms snaked around her neck, pulling their bodies together.
Rachel shivered, and she could feel the blonde shaking against her, though she didn't know if it was just from the temperature of the water. But there were wet lips on her own, sliding and slipping with such grace and ease that she almost didn't notice the clumsiness underneath it all – the telltale of passion. Of unease. Of impulsive decisions. She pulled back slightly, their lips parting with a smack. "Quinn–"
The blonde pressed forward, cutting her off. Rachel, attempting to break the kiss again, was held in place by Quinn's hand. The blonde took her lip between her own and sucked, and instead of trying to break away again, the brunette sighed into the kiss, letting her wheeling mind spin off for the moment.
Quinn took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, sliding her tongue against the other woman's and reveling in the feeling of the brunette responding, understanding the delicate movements of the tango they'd engaged in. Maybe it was having a small tongue in her mouth or just finally having an experienced partner, but Quinn whimpered, never realizing just how poorly skilled and sloppy her past boyfriends had been.
They were dogs. They were big, excitable slobbery dogs compared to this… this…
Rachel let out a high squeak as Quinn bit down on her lower lip.
This…this… the blonde's hazy brain registered the feminine shape brushing against her nerves, rushing through all her senses. This…woman.
Quinn broke the kiss, tightening her hold around Rachel's neck and keeping their foreheads pressed together. Rachel's eyes searched the blonde's face, unsure of what had just happened or what would follow. Quinn kept her eyes closed, catching her breath. The brunette ignored the dull burn in her arms from holding them both above the waterline.
And for the first time since returning to the Vineyard, she had no idea how to proceed.
A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger ..
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