Are you still here ? It seems so. Thanks for your words of encouragement. Also, I now have more followers and favorites than on the original story. Haha.
Quinn woke up in a feeling of heat, of beatitude almost complete that immediately put her in a good mood. She had a nearly perfect night's sleep, with Rachel who had been here during the night, in her arms, and who didn't give her grief for her doubts, the ones Quinn had expressed earlier in the evening.
She felt like she was losing ground, that she was falling a bit more, without being able to do anything against it, in this storm of sensations and palpitations and shortness of breath and goosebumps, and everything that Rachel was provoking her. More than to resign herself to it, she felt ready to accept it.
Quinn grinned against her pillow while snuggling a little more, letting out a sigh of contentment.
She found a strange comfort in the fact that the pillow had absorbed her smell and Rachel's, offering the combination of both to her nostrils.
In the darkness caused by the drawn curtains, the blonde couldn't tell if the sun was already high in the sky, but guessed that it should be pretty late in the morning since she had become accustomed to staying in bed long after being awake.
Quinn gave in to one of those few moments that filled her with an endless serenity, enjoying the warmth that the bed and the blankets dispensed, while trying to etch this sweet morning on her memory — because she knew that once out of bed, the reality of the outside world would catch her, would cross her windows and her curtains to infiltrate her apartment and take, off Rachel and herself, a bit of the innocent naivety that seemed to live with them for weeks.
It was at this moment that Quinn launched her arm across the mattress, expecting to collide with her roommate's body (she didn't dare define her by a stronger word, more personal and intimate), but she only met still lukewarm sheets.
She didn't worry, though. Rachel was an early bird, and she was probably up doing a thousand things already.
Nonetheless, the blonde felt a slight disappointment knowing that she was alone in her bedroom. She would have liked, and perhaps was it selfish, waking up feeling Rachel's body against hers, her hands giving her tender caresses to pull her out of sleep, her mouth kissing her temple or her hair or, she dreamt without daring it too much, her lips, while murmuring an affectionate "good morning" in her ear.
Quinn sighed. She didn't have to feel down when thinking about those mornings that could probably happen one day or the other. After all, there was a food chance that Rachel would continue to live with her for a long time if the war didn't show signs of abating.
The young woman relaxed a few more minutes, attending to unreal and oneiric reflections when the door of her room opened on a small brunette with a huge smile, carrying a full tray. She was wearing one of Quinn's many dresses, midnight blue colored, with short sleeves and falling just below her knees.
The smile instantly came back to her. Unlike the first days of their cohabitation, when the dark-haired girl was constantly embarrassed and uncomfortable, afraid to touch the littlest furniture, Rachel seemed in her element as if she had always lived here.
Quinn grinned dreamily, then chuckled as the brunette put the tray down on the bedside table.
"You look like a housewife."
The girl looked at her strangely, before laughing and shaking her head.
"I hope that it's a compliment," Rachel replied with a contagious smile and red cheeks.
While sitting up against the headboard, Quinn watched the small Jew, the breakfast that she had set — only for her, she thought with some intoxication —, and she wondered for a moment if she could ever go back to her previous life, when she was living alone and wasn't faced head on with the cruelty of war and when she hadn't met a young Jewish woman yet, on the run and looking for a refuge.
They had went such a long way together that Quinn couldn't even think about letting her go.
"It is," Quinn said while Rachel was opening the thick dark curtains, letting the sunlight illuminate the room.
Then, as Rachel was carefully putting the tray on the bedspread, on the blonde's legs, the latter one asked, in a curious, almost teasing tone: "And why do I get all of this ?"
The dark-haired girl smiled and replied in the same tone.
"Haven't I simply got the right to cook for the woman that gives me a roof for months ?"
Quinn shrugged and blushed in the same time, a corner of her mouth lifting up. She hoped to see more often this aspect of Rachel, this carefree, happy side, this woman that wasn't thinking continually about war and the dangers she exposed herself to — that they both exposed themselves to.
The blonde moved a bit to the side, patting at her left to exhort her to come near her. The smaller one smiled from ear to ear, before complying, slipping her legs under the sheets and settling in a similar position that Quinn's, hip against hip.
Quinn let out a sigh of contentment when Rachel put her head on her shoulder. She had missed her closeness. She took a hungry look at the food on the tray on her legs; bread, butter, some tea and an ersatz of jam. A true feast nowadays. She felt herself already salivating. Quinn searched for the petite brunette's hand, that she squeezed, before asking her with the same teasing voice:
"What did I do to deserve this sumptuous meal ?"
"So many things," Rachel answered while shrugging. "You gave me a chance to live, to begin with. The right to live."
The young Parisian vaguely shook her head, slightly moving aside so she could look the brown-haired girl in the eye. The latter smiled, without a hint of sadness, before planting a chaste kiss on her mouth. Quinn kept her eyelids shut for fear of having imagined the last seconds, but when she felt Rachel's fingers, light as air, stroking her flushed cheeks, she slowly opened them and saw the young woman looking at her with such intensity that she wondered for a moment how could she have doubted Rachel's feelings for her.
Of course not, Rachel wasn't feeling only gratitude. And absolutely no pity.
She had been stupid to think that.
She was nearly certain that the young Jew could love her. She almost dared hope for it.
Three knocks on the front door an afternoon startled the two young women.
Quinn hadn't been visited a single time these last two weeks; for the first time she had focused on herself and on her emotions, as well as the brunette sharing her apartment.
The taller one went to open the door when she recognized the rhythm the knocks did and was suddenly attacked by a blond storm throwing herself into her arms.
"Quinn! I am so happy to see you !"
Quinn laughed heartily seeing this enthusiasm that only Brittany could display, hugging her and kissing her on both cheeks. She felt like it had been an eternity since they had the last saw each other.
"Oh, Rachel !" the tall blonde said with the same fondness when she saw the small Jew, sitting on the couch. Then, jogging toward her, she exclaimed: "I missed you! It's been so long since I saw you !"
Brittany imposed her the same treatment, hugging her until they couldn't breathe. Rachel looked at Quinn, incomprehension painted on her face, but Quinn gave her a look as powerless as amused above her shoulder. Brittany stepped back from the brunette but kept her hold on her shoulders, looked her up and down, deep in thought, which made Rachel slightly uncomfortable. Finally, she smiled, before speaking to Quinn.
"She seems to have put on weight," she said cheerfully. "I'm glad to know that you feed her right." Then she said very low, to Rachel: "It seems that you've met the right person."
Brittany did a knowing wink that made her blush to her ears, but Quinn didn't let Rachel time to be embarrassed because she swiftly cleared her throat.
"Tell me, did you want something, Britt? You might have some documents for me, have you ?"
"Oh, of course !" she answered happily while bringing a batch of pages out of her bag. "Some of them are from my cousin, I added them with mine."
Quinn took the papers from the other blonde's hand, flipping through them absent-mindedly before putting them in her desk drawer, near the radio set, for safety. These last few days, she had neglected this activity, letting the writing and publishing to Sam and Sue, but she promised herself to come back to it as soon as possible.
Turning toward the middle of the living room, she saw that her two friends were in a deep conversation, Brittany doing large gestures with her hands while Rachel was carefully listening to her, grinning and obviously caught by what the blonde was saying.
Quinn couldn't help but smile, happy that they were getting along so well, but also that Rachel had someone to whom she could talk — except herself —, her who couldn't go outside and meet new people, or settle at the terrace of a café with Sam, or even go to the theaters to see Billy Wilder's last movie, Humphrey Bogart or Bette Davis.
She then heard herself asking, without thinking about it, if Brittany would like to stay for tea or even for dinner.
"It would be a pleasure," Brittany replied while smiling softly, "but I have things to do tonight. Another time ?"
Quinn nodded, inwardly planning their future meal and thinking that she would have to inform the tall blonde of the last events of her relationship with Rachel.
She stopped thinking to wonder if she had the right to do so. After all, she and Rachel hadn't even talked about their relation. Of course, they had kissed, and it was obvious that they had more than platonic feelings for each other, but it didn't mean that the world had suddenly become simple and easy for them.
Distractedly shaking her head, Quinn promised herself to think about it later and to talk about it to Brittany only after she got everything clear with her roommate.
Brittany left a bit later, leaving them alone once more, and nobody visited them for a week.
That was fine about Quinn; naturally, a part of her would like to have visitors every day, for the only reason that she feared that Rachel felt too lonely, spending her days cooking in the kitchen, with a book, or by the window. She had often wanted to ask her neighbors to come and share a moment of their day.
However, Rachel didn't seem unhappy to have only the blonde to talk to. When one day Quinn told her that she was worrying about her not being able to go out or to socialize, the brunette cut her off, replying that she was okay with the actual arrangement.
Quinn tried not to think about it anymore, but she couldn't help feeling a pinch of culpability from time to time.
Even though she had undoubtedly saved her from German hands, from death and perpetual wandering, she also had cut her from every kind of human relationships and meetings that she could have done if she still was in the street.
In spite of this, the blonde couldn't regret her choice. She had given her a roof, she was sharing her bed and her food, and it was worth more than anything.
And there was also Mercedes, Sam, and Brittany, who, even if she didn't see them as often as she wanted to, were available at any moment of the day.
She knew that all of this was enough. It wasn't the number of people she knew that would make Rachel feel less lonely. By the way, nothing was saying that Rachel wasn't feeling well. Quinn would know it, she was persuaded.
The two young woman continued their daily business as usual. Rachel would wake up early, cook lunch, sing softly, hum the tunes from the radio, sometimes look through the window, help to make dinner, wash, and go to bed. Quinn would wake up, eat, read, cook lunch and dinner, read again, let herself be lulled by the brunette's sweet voice, write and correct some documents, mend the clothes that were falling into pieces, and she would join Rachel in her bed.
Sometimes, too, they kissed, whether it be on the mouth, the cheek, the temple or the shoulder, when they felt the need more than the desire to do so, and neither of them said anything about it.
It seemed natural, less forced than honest, and it was all that matters.
They hadn't chosen a term to brand their relation — to say the truth, they hadn't even talked about it. Quinn felt, and knew that she soon would have to talk to Rachel about it, but for now, she was simply happy to live so peacefully with the woman who set ablaze her senses in one look.
Quinn had wanted to talk about it with her, had prepared herself to this famous discussion with Rachel, but every time she felt that the moment was uncalled-for, that the subject would appear out of the blue.
It was a night of the middle of a cold and dry March, that encouraged the blonde to question Rachel about it.
She couldn't really stop herself; as she got into in bed, the small Jew had instantly forgotten her fetal position to nestle against Quinn's back, draping an arm and a leg over her waist and pressing her forehead on the nape of her neck. Quinn let out a quivering sigh at her contact. She didn't know how she could have fought against her closeness and her warmth since all, this time, she spent near her.
But she had to know where they stood in their relationship. How Rachel was seeing it. What Rachel was feeling? It was torturing her to live in the shadow when the answer was maybe within reach.
Slightly turning her head, Quinn took the brunette's hand and, uncertain, whispered her name.
"Yes, Quinn ?"
"Do you..." she began but stopped to take a deep breath before continuing. "You do know that I am in love with you, right ?"
As a reply, the hand that was in hers squeezed her fingers. She was afraid to have overstepped the bounds and got close to a sensitive topic when the brown-haired girl didn't answer right away.
"I know," Rachel said after a beat.
"And it doesn't scare you ?"
"No," she quickly responded. "Why should it scare me ?"
Quinn shrugged, unsure about the way she should talk about her worries and insecurities.
"I am a woman," she said. "You are a woman. We're living together. We could have much trouble if someone were to discover it, no matter what the nature of our relationship is."
At this instant, Quinn felt the brunette moving aside, and she then thought that what she dreaded the most had finally happened. Rachel was running away from her. She closed her eyes to hold back the tears that threatened to flow on her cheeks but opened them right away when she felt Rachel's hand pushing on her shoulder so that she would lie on her back. The small Jew was leaning on her arm, her hand on the mattress, her legs stretched out against Quinn's.
She didn't say a single word for a long moment, only watching her in the dark with a look that Quinn would have called serious.
"We already could be in a lot of troubles, Quinn. Not only because we're two women. I am Jewish, I live here illegally, and the only people that are aware of my existence are protecting me. You're doing everything to protect me. Moreover, you write articles for the Resistance. We risk a lot of things," she said while shrugging, "so why should we worry even more ?"
The blonde had no answer to give her. She dragged on in the chocolate eyes, in the face above her, finding the comfort that she had looked for years when she had had doubts about the choices she had to make, that were going to define the rest of her life. Were the risks that she was taking when writing those articles and hiding this Jewish woman worth putting her life in danger every second?
She briefly shut her eyes — of course that it was worth it. She couldn't imagine a scenario in which she would have let Rachel in this insalubrious cellar where the rats would have been her only company or one in which she would have denounced her.
Finally, Quinn said, in a whispered voice: "I can't help being afraid. I am afraid of everything that could happen if I do what I want to do."
"Terrifying and unfair things will always happen," Rachel said with a small smile. "Especially now that a megalomaniac madman is in power."
It made Quinn laugh softly, even though the subject wasn't funny at all. She understood where the brunette was getting at.
"In spite of this," she went on, "we can't indulge in madness or suppositions. A lot of bad things could happen to us, but they also could not happen. We never know what tomorrow may bring."
"How can you react so calmly? I mean, we could lose everything, starting with our freedom. You said it yourself, you don't know what could happen to us."
Rachel smiled, then she took Quinn's hand and brought it at her lips, kissed her knuckles before tangling their fingers together in a mixture of pale and tanned skin.
"I am with you. I know that you will never hurt me. I know that I am safe in this apartment, and it doesn't matter if I can't get out. I know that I love you, and I know that you love me too. That's all that matters for me."
Quinn kept silent for a moment, then she leaned with alacrity to kiss Rachel. The brunette immediately answered to the kiss, moving her body until it molded entirely Quinn's shape, sliding her lips against hers. She felt one of the blonde's hand making its way on her back to tangle in her hair while the other one was still holding hers.
Quinn thought for a moment, as she rested her hand between Rachel's shoulder blades through the fabric of her pajama, that the younger woman had put on a bit of weight, feeling her supple skin covering her formerly prominent bones, and she sighed in the kiss.
Perhaps she could help her. She could give her a lot more than a shelter and food, she was persuaded of it.
Rachel woke up at the crack of dawn, as she usually did, with a sigh of satisfaction while remembering the events of the day before.
Only she decided not to get up right away, choosing to relax in Quinn's arms and enjoy this moment of pure tranquillity.
She felt the blonde cuddle up a bit more against her, and Rachel looked up to check that she was still asleep. Upon seeing Quinn so peaceful, a light smile floating on her face, she thought wistfully that it was maybe the only moment of the day when Quinn wasn't worrying, enjoying what was granted to her without thinking about tomorrow.
The dark-haired woman shyly raised her hand, moving aside a few blonde strands from her face, still amazed at the beauty before her.
Rachel had first thought of Quinn as a Greek goddess, untouchable and immortal, that had more or less all the answers to all of her questions. However, time passed and she realized that it wasn't the case at all.
Sure, Quinn looked like a movie star, a Hollywood classic beauty, an actress like on the posters that she had seen in her youth at the entrance of the theaters. Quinn reminded her of Greta Garbo's ethereal grace, Katharine Hepburn's smooth elegance, with a charm that left her speechless.
But, like everybody, Quinn had her own insecurities, which were only making her more beautiful to Rachel. They made her human, alive; and the awkwardness that she had first felt in her presence had gradually vanished to give way to a boundless affection, an absolute confidence which, little by little, had evolved into an inexpressible love for the blonde.
Rachel sighed weakly while snuggling a bit more against the blonde's warm body, putting her head under her chin and kissing the white skin of her neck, just above her shirt.
She dared think about the mornings that would follow, about the tomorrows and the months that would pass, while she could stay beside Quinn, surrounded by her arms or sitting next to her or simply watching her, and she briefly wondered if that war was going to last a long time.
She saw, in the first lights of the day, the crucifix shining around the blonde's neck, like a light at the end of the tunnel.
Rachel smiled softly, touching the small silver cross with the tip of her fingers. Quinn might be her light at the end of the tunnel.
...And never to surrender ourselves to servitude and shame, whatever the cost and the agony may be.
— Winston Churchill.