Title: Tonight I'll Be Staying Here With You
Author:
Frensayce
Rating:
PG-13
Pairing:
Rachel/Quinn
Spoilers:
Everything-ish.
Disclaimers:
Glee isn't mine. But this universe kinda is. I guess.
Summary:
Rachel's home. Unbeta'd.


Rachel sagged against the wall, staring at the ceiling in hopes of drying out her tears. There was a crack in the corner. Not a big one, just a small squiggly line stemming from the crown molding. She could probably paint over it; the hallway could use a new color anyway. The beige sandstone tone just wasn't cutting it anymore. Although, she thought, it could be something serious, something deep within the structure that maybe a fresh coat wouldn't cover. She supposed it was to be expected: the house was ancient. Built at the turn of the 20th Century, it was a shining example of classic New York elitist architecture and an emblem of displaced Hollywood and all its glamour. Yes, it was extravagant, and had been gutted and renovated more than once since its longest inhabitant had passed away in 2003. But it was cozy, somehow, warm. Once it came on the market six years ago, Quinn had gone above and beyond in getting Rachel something the actress had only joked about. Now, the diva resided in the brownstone Katharine Hepburn called home for sixty years and had the same communal backyard once shared by Steven Sondheim. Except for that craggily line running overhead, and the millions it'd cost them, living in Turtle Bay Gardens was perfect. Rachel had dreamed of success when younger, but never did she picture living like this. However, she wouldn't have imagined marrying her high school bully, either.

She sighed and looked down at the herringbone oak flooring. That wasn't fair. Name-calling and petty jealousy aside, Quinn hadn't hurt her as much as people thought. Finn Hudson and his private verbal abuse, degradation, and condescension did far more damage to her than some snarky comments and a few lewd drawings. Some of the things said by Kurt or Mercedes cut deeper than the former Cheerio's snide but tired insults. Maybe it was because they knew each other before Lucy became Quinn. Maybe it was because Rachel knew that in reality, Quinn's problems had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with the blonde herself. In fact, regarding what Rachel deemed the worst of the bullying—the slushies—Quinn never was involved. She never personally threw one of those icy drinks in Rachel's face, ever. And it wasn't like a fellow student, head cheerleader or not, had any control over what the entire student body chose to do and the faculty chose to ignore.

Quinn Fabray the bully hurt her less than Quinn Fabray-Berry, wife and partner, and nowhere near as much as Dr. Quinn Fabray, M.D., the medical wunderkind turned superhero.

Once upon a time, the blonde had been her white knight, saving her from the Hell of Lima and devoting herself to Rachel alone. Now she belonged to the world. If not by name, then certainly by deed. The problem was that Rachel needed rescuing, healing. And Quinn hadn't been there.

But she was here now. Here in their—Rachel's—bed, soothing and singing their children to sleep, savior from the storm.

How dare she?

How dare she manifest out the black and cloudy sky to be the responsible, loving parent she was before? How dare she sleep in the bed she gave up, the bed Rachel cried herself to sleep in more often than not? And how fucking dare she presume to think Rachel wouldn't object or be angry? What in the name of Streisand what the woman thinking?

Knowing Quinn? She probably wasn't. As a doctor, Quinn was thoughtful and logical: she followed procedure and clinical methodology. As a person, she was the opposite. Quinn reacted from the gut, relying on instinct instead of practicality. Most of the time that instinct was borne from fear and only provided defensive measures. Quinn was purely fight or flight to the worst degree.

The brunette ran both hands through her hair. Was that what happened to them? Was it because her wife was so afraid that she turned harsh then retreated when things got harder? What could she possibly be so damned scared of?

Rachel slid down the wall, holding her head in her hands. She didn't know. And part of that not knowing was her own fault. She'd chosen ignorance. Marriage counseling was her idea, but she wasn't as active in it as Quinn was. She figured because of that, because Quinn was working on herself by talking out her work stress, they wouldn't have to work so hard on them.

Her own hubris surprised her. Agreeing to one session every other week with Dr. Coe, but participating only when prompted or outright provoked wasn't as good as Quinn's weekly individual appointments. Couple's Therapy lasted only six months with Rachel attending half as many meetings as Quinn. The dark side of her assumed her wife and Dr. Coe were talking about how sick of Rachel Quinn was, and how she wanted out of the marriage.

Deep down, she knew that wasn't true.

They ended things because neither could keep living like they were. They'd become less than strangers and both were miserable. How ironic: Rachel felt worse now than ever before. She wondered, did Quinn feel the same?

Pulling herself together, she stood and peeked into the bedroom again. Joshua was on the far left end, hugging the pillow that used to be Quinn's. He and Daniel were back-to-back, and the larger boy was curled into as small of a ball as possible. Which wasn't very small at all. Quinn was next. On her back with an arm flung over her head and as beautiful as ever. So damn beautiful.

Her heart hurdled over the fence of anger and pain entrapping it. Pieces of her hated herself for still being so in love. The rest of her hated herself for not doing more when she had the chance. For not yielding to their relationship completely. Quinn was too pretty. Too confident, too intelligent, and too much everything to be with someone like Rachel, and the singer had thought that from their beginning. She never wholly gave in or lowered her guard for fear that one day Quinn would come to her senses, realize she could do better, and leave.

Just like everyone else did.

Shelby gave her up. Twice. Finn took her on a nightmare of a relationship with more ups and downs than a rollercoaster. Puck was like a drifter, "slumming it" with her for a few days before moving on. Jesse used her then abused her, and she stupidly went back to him anyway. His return to Lima wasn't by choice and her companionship served to bolster his ego and get him back into the show choir life only so he could stay behind in New York while New Directions took their 12th place trophy home to Ohio. Then came her mistake of Finn. Again.

Much of the time her own parents were too caught up in themselves to pay teenaged Rachel the attention she craved. She was a novelty baby, born because two men wanted to prove people wrong and show the world homosexuals raised heterosexual children. They loved her. They were good fathers and set appropriate limits when they weren't spoiling their little princess. But the disappointed faces they wore the day Rachel formally introduced Quinn as her girlfriend was permanently etched on her brain. Yes, eventually they'd accepted her and her sexuality with open arms. But after twenty years of marriage and three children, they still never fully warmed to Quinn.

That was another thing. Rachel leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed but with a thumbnail snared between two rows of teeth. Her dads didn't know about the divorce. None of their family and friends knew. Except Santana. Who had yet to give her the names of good attorneys who could handle the divorce of Rachel Berry with discretion. She frowned. It'd been a few days since they'd seen each other, but she needed to remember to ask the lawyer about it soon. She didn't want to prolong this ordeal more than necessary. But, she sighed, looking at the sleeping persons who powered the very beating of her heart, Rachel wondered if she really should file for divorce at all. Guilt roiled in her chest as Tana again came to mind. No, she had to go through with this.

She checked her phone. She'd been lingering out here for almost an hour. It was time for bed. Morning would come soon and pull her from whatever rest she could hope to get, then drag her away to a studio across town for a promotional session with Vanity Fair's best photographer. Woo and fucking hoo.

Rachel shook her head and trekked into her room, pointedly avoiding looking at the bed. Her path was a direct cut to the walk-in closet/antique dressing room. There was a stipulation in the deed that they couldn't touch that room for anything other than upkeep. It was an unnecessary condition, Rachel wouldn't have messed with Kate the Great's private vanity even with a gun to her head. She slogged into the vast space, closing the door before flipping on the light. Strangely, noise was not something that would wake the bodies in her bed: Rachel could (and on occasion had) run scales in the same room as the slumbering coterie without disturbing them in the slightest, but light was a different story. The Fabray-Berry tribe needed as much darkness as possible or else—

"Mama?"

Damn it. The woman blew out a huge breath and made quick work of changing into pajamas then shut off the light. She stepped out and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark. Ava was whimpering a little bit. Rachel soon focused on little legs pushing back the heavy comforter with lazy kicks as the child sat up, pouting. She moved quickly, reaching the bed in record time. "What's wrong, sweetie?"

Ava shook her head. Tangles of wavy brown hair danced over her shoulders and her pout deepened. "Hafta potty."

Rachel almost chuckled. Instead she helped the little girl out of bed and accompanied her to the master bathroom upon the silent request via the small hand gripping her own. Ava was too old to need any help, but she didn't always like being alone. The mother could only imagine how many friends she'd be dragging in with her to the sanctuary of school restrooms ten years from now. Actually, she didn't want to imagine ten years from now. The boys were difficult enough; she didn't want to think about what a teenaged Ava would be like. Hopefully nothing like Rachel herself. She doubted she'd be so lucky.

Mission successful, Ava sprinted out of the en suite and launched herself onto the bed. Right next to Quinn. Rachel finished her bedtime routine and followed to tuck Ava in, watching the doctor turn onto her side, facing their daughter and thankfully still asleep. She wasn't ready to look into those hazel eyes again. There was no telling how either would react to it, and the diva was too tired and drained to handle the inevitable fallout right now.

Ava scooted closer to her mommy and patted the free space next to her four-year-old body. "M'kay. There's for you."

Dark brows climbed to Rachel's hairline. Of course Ava expected her to join the cuddle party. The innocent child had no way of knowing how complicated the situation was and how much worse such behavior would make it all. It was a fire Rachel couldn't afford fanning.

"Mama's going to sleep down the hall tonight, sweetie."

"In Tía's room?"

Rachel nodded. The guest room was always at the ready in case Santana should randomly appear and plan to stay the night. It hadn't been used in months, however. Not because Tana hadn't slept over, but because she'd been staying in Rachel's bed.

"Yeah. In Tía's room."

"Nooooo." Ava's tone wasn't whiny at all. It was authoritative and a little patronizing. Great, she sounded like Quinn. "I want you to stay here." She tapped the mattress quite deliberately.

She glanced at Quinn, then back to Ava. Pathetic puppy dog eyes shone with forced tears and her little chin quivered. They were in such trouble when she got older. Slamming doors, angry words, and persuasive apologies flashed in her mind. Ava was her exact duplicate. They were doomed. It was times like these that the actress really disliked being psychic. Unfortunately, none of it stopped her from acquiescing and crawling into bed next to her daughter.

Ava flopped onto her belly, her hand already curling into her mama's hair as Rachel folded in, lying on her side. Within moments, the toddler was in dreamland, abandoning the singer to smooth her fingers through baby soft locks as a means of absolutely not looking at Quinn. Easier said than done.

Her gaze deviated to the woman in the middle of the bed. Only the petite body of her youngest child separated them. She longed to reach over and brush the silvery gold tresses away from Quinn's forehead, but she caught her wayward hand back just in time. No. Too much too soon.

She wasn't ready for this. And she honestly didn't know if she ever would be again.

Yawning, Rachel settled under the covers, her hand now resting on Ava's back. The little girl squirmed and turned her head toward Quinn, but Rachel left her hand where it lay, waiting for Ava to calm.

She didn't. There was wiggling and whimpering and before Rachel could attempt to soothe her daughter, a warm palm landed atop her hand.

Although very much asleep, Quinn intuitively stretched out to comfort their baby. The side effect was metaphoric third degree burns searing Rachel's skin. She couldn't move. Couldn't pull away. Couldn't stop her fingers from interlacing with her wife's.

So far from insignificant, the touch both cooled her anger and melted the ice in which she'd tried to pack away her heart. Rachel closed her eyes and a tear leaked sideways, down to the pillow. Quinn gave an involuntary twitch in her sleep and slender fingers squeezed Rachel's. God Himself couldn't stop her from squeezing back.

Entwined, their hands rose and fell with each breath Ava took while their sons snored on. Whether or not she filed for divorce, whether or not they simply stayed separated but still legally wed, whether some sort of miracle occurred and they found a way to forgive and try again, it was clear to Rachel that they had no choice but to remain in each other's lives forever. The three sleeping souls in bed with them braided into the lifeline she and the Quinn were tied together with for eternity. Yet, if this was the only way to re-tether herself to Quinn, especially considering her behavior since the doctor had moved out, she'd take it. It was probably the best she could hope for.