Whispering

The expression Thank God It's Friday existed for a reason and weeks like this one were a perfect example. Thankfully, there was no Puckerman party looming on the horizon to throw the universe off its axis again, and Rachel was hoping that this weekend would put things back to order. She just needed to get through her Literature assignment with Quinn, and she was certain they could go back to generally ignoring one another. Quinn's renewed burst of animosity, ignited by their unfortunate kiss, seemed to have finally burned itself out. Surely, Rachel's own little problem would disappear once she was no longer required to be in Quinn's constant presence.

When she arrived at her locker, she wasn't surprised to find Finn there waiting for her and looking suitably contrite. After all, his typical pattern was to blow up first, and then feel bad about it once he'd calmed down.

"Hey, Rachel, can we talk?" he asked, stuffing his hands in the pocked of his Letterman jacket and bracing a foot flat against the wall behind him as he leaned back.

"Of course, Finn," she encouraged him with a smile.

"I really hate fighting with you," he admitted, looking down at the floor.

Rachel set her binder in her locker and rested her hand on his arm. "I don't like it either."

Finn looked at her hand and grinned boyishly. "It was kind of stupid, too."

"Yes, it was."

"So we can just forget about it, right? I mean, I totally forgive you."

She nodded, "I…wait. You forgive me?"

He shrugged, "Well, yeah. You were totally being controlling again."

Rachel dropped her hand, closing it into a fist and straightening her back. "Finn, you skipped class, completely disregarding the importance of your education."

"It was only one class," he argued, "and it's my education and stuff."

"But you," Rachel stopped, looking up into his eyes and realizing that they were about to spiral back into the same argument again, and she really didn't have the energy for it this morning. "No, I don't want to argue anymore. I forgive you, too."

"Cool," Finn smiled, pulling his hands from his pockets so he could wrap his arms around her, then bent down to peck her lips. "So, you wanna go out tonight? There's this new action movie playing that I really want to see."

"Sorry, Finn. Rachel already has a date with me tonight," Kurt interrupted with a cocky grin, unexpectedly appearing from behind his stepbrother.

"She does?"

"I do?"

Finn released his hold on Rachel, and Kurt stepped into the empty space beside her to wrap one arm around her shoulder. "We do. You promised me on Wednesday that I could take you shopping," he sang out the last word with an unholy gleam in his eyes.

Rachel swallowed thickly. She'd been kind of emotional on Wednesday night, and the promise of a shopping trip with Kurt had sounded nice at the time. They'd been out only once before and, while it hadn't been the disaster she'd been anticipating, it had definitely been a test of their new friendship. She wouldn't part with her skirts and sweaters, and Kurt wouldn't give up trying to make her more fashionable. They'd managed to compromise on a few plain blouses and basic black skirts, and he'd even convinced her to buy a pair of blue jeans that he insisted hugged her in all the right places. She'd actually worn them to school yesterday—granted Kurt had needed to play on her love of showmanship, convincing her to dress for her performance, but they'd both been surprised when she agreed to keep them on all day.

"Well, I promised we would go, but I didn't realize…"

"Tonight," Kurt cut her off. "Five o'clock sharp. I'll pick you up," he told her before he breezed away with a swish of his scarf.

Finn shifted his weight and dug his hands back into his pockets. "Well, uh, I guess I'll see you at lunch, then?"

"Yes…oh wait, I can't today. I have to meet Quinn," she told him.

His brows furrowed. "Why? I mean, it's Quinn."

"Yes, and Quinn and I have an assignment to work on for our Literature class. We are capable of being civil to one another when we need to be," she informed him.

"Since when?" Rachel narrowed her eyes and frowned up at him, but Finn shook his head and explained, "It's just, two days ago you were crying because she was mean to you, and now you're having lunch with her."

Rachel crossed her arms. "She apologized…well, sort of. In any case, we've seemed to come to an understanding and are attempting to work together without further incident."

He sighed, "Just be careful, Rach. Quinn can be really vicious when she wants to be."

She knew she should have been comforted by the fact that Finn was so concerned for her well being, but she felt more offended on Quinn's behalf than anything else. That really wasn't a good omen towards the universe righting itself anytime soon. "I can take care of myself," she grumbled.

Finn's mouth twisted up in a half smile, and he kissed the top of her head. "Sure. Later, babe."

Wait—babe? What the heck? Now Finn was channeling Noah, too!

•••

Rachel was pacing the choir room at 12:05. She'd sent Brad away (because the man was always hovering around his beloved piano) and was glancing at the clock every few seconds, becoming increasingly certain that Quinn was standing her up—or possibly had rigged a bucket of cherry slushie above the door to drench her. Despite her irritation with Finn for reminding her of the fact, she didn't doubt for a moment that Quinn Fabray was capable of feigning kindness in order to lull her victim into a false sense of security before she went in for the kill. Rachel still remembered how easily she'd been manipulated into hiring Dakota Stanley sophomore year.

As the clock ticked over to 12:06, Quinn finally pushed into the choir room. "Sorry. I got held up talking to Sam."

Rachel ignored the irrational little slither of jealousy at the mention of the image-obsessed jock. "That's perfectly alright, Quinn," she said, flattening down her skirt as she sat down. She opened her binder and pulled out the poem, gesturing for Quinn to join her. Quin dropped into the chair to her right, turning it a little to angle toward Rachel before unfolding her own wrinkled paper and smoothing it out over her lap.

Rachel shook her head and smiled a little at the action. "You really shouldn't cram all of your papers together that way. A tidy house is a tidy mind."

"It's a binder," Quinn quipped with an arched brow.

Rachel blushed, "Yes, well, it's a metaphor."

"And metaphors are important," Quinn finished with a teasing grin.

Rachel's cheeks grew even warmer, and she ducked her head. If angry Quinn had the ability to get her hot and bothered, then cute, playful Quinn was downright hazardous to her mental health. Clearing her throat, Rachel attempted to regain a strictly professional demeanor. "We should talk about the poem. I think it's fairly easy to interpret."

"Yeah, being a loser sucks."

"Quinn! Can you please take this assignment seriously?" Rachel admonished.

Quinn narrowed her eyes. "I am. She's saying that victory is sweet, and that nobody understands that better than the loser."

Okay, so technically that was correct. "That's a very basic summary," Rachel argued.

Quinn rolled her eyes and slumped back in her chair. "Why does it have to be more complicated? Seriously, Berry, you don't always need a three hundred word essay to say something important. Emily Dickinson was a master at simple and to the point."

Rachel huffed, "Contrary to popular belief, I do understand the concept of short and sweet. In this case, however, I believe that Ms. Fischer expects us to compare the poem back to other works by the author. For example, one will find in Dickinson's poetry, a re-occurrence of the theme that not having a thing increases one's appreciation of it. In this poem, the coveted item is success."

Some of the hostility seemed to drain out of Quinn's expression, and she dropped her eyes. "Why do you think we keep getting stuck debating stuff that's so freaking personal?" she asked in a small voice, and Rachel's heart went out to her. Quinn had lost a great deal over the last year, so of course the poem's theme would strike a nerve. She'd been at the bottom and clawed her way back on top. She should be basking in the sweetness of her own success, but instead she just seemed so…well, sad.

Truthfully, Rachel thought she could identify with at least some of what Quinn had experienced. She couldn't help thinking about the things that she had lost—and she wasn't thinking of Regionals last year, or the handful of solos that she'd wanted. She was thinking about Shelby, and how close she'd come to actually having a mother in her life, only to lose it after having been given a meager taste. She'd been so much better off before she'd had a name and a face and a voice to miss. Quinn had to be feeling a similar way about Beth.

Lacing her fingers tightly together on her lap, Rachel studied Quinn's down-turned face and defensive posture. "I suppose it's because nothing ever really changes. Every generation ends up having to deal with the same problems—life and death, love and loss—and you find the same themes again and again in art and literature and music. So many different people can identify with them, but they don't always evoke the same emotional response from everyone."

Quinn slowly met her eyes. "I guess we should talk about that…you know, when we present the poem."

"Okay," Rachel quietly agreed.

"How long have you played?" Quinn asked out of the blue, lifting her chin and nodding to indicate the piano.

Rachel blushed again, "Oh, uh, about six years. I'm really not very good."

"Yes, you are," Quinn said, then flushed and quickly added, "I mean, from what I heard."

"Thanks," Rachel murmured softly, shocked by the compliment.

"Why didn't you ever tell anyone? I mean, I would have thought you'd be eager to point out another talent."

The soft smile on Quinn's face and the lack of sarcasm took the sting out of her words, so Rachel chuckled, "Because I'm only a passable pianist, while I am an exceptional vocalist. I choose to focus on my strengths." Also, she didn't much care to hear her fellow glee clubbers accuse her of seeking even more attention.

Quinn nodded as if she understood. "What was that song you were playing on Tuesday?"

Rachel shifted uncomfortably, somewhat surprised that Quinn had noticed the music or would even care to ask about it. There was no denying that it was a beautiful piece, but the subject matter was one that Quinn might find too personal, and so Rachel hesitated to elaborate on it. Yet she couldn't escape Quinn's earnest expression, and found herself answering the question.

"It's called Whispering, from Spring Awakening."

"Broadway, right?" Quinn verified, fingers playing absently with the pleats of her cheerio's skirt.

"Of course," she confirmed with a half smile.

Quinn's hands flattened out on her skirt, and she glanced down into her lap, shyly asking, "Could you…could you sing it now?"

Rachel froze, uncertain how to respond. On the one hand, her ego was jumping for joy because Quinn had actually asked her to sing, but on the other hand, her common sense was telling her that she really should refuse. "Quinn…I'm not certain…"

"Please."

That voice—soft and low and warm all melted together in a velvety whisper—completely undid her resolve. With a nod, Rachel stood and moved to the piano, hoping that Brad wasn't lingering around to scold her for touching his baby. She willed her hands to stop shaking before pressing them gently to the keys, caressing the ivory and allowing the melody to float into the heavy air around them. Drawing a breath, she began to sing, closing her eyes and abandoning herself to the music.

"Whispering
Here the ghosts in the moonlight
Sorrow doing a new dance
Through their bone, through their skin

Listening
To the souls in the fool's night
Fumbling mutely with their rude hands
And there's heartache without end

See the father bent in grief
The mother dressed in mourning
Sister crumbles, and the neighbors grumble
The preacher issues warnings

History
Little miss didn't do right
Went and ruined all the true plans
Such a shame. Such a sin.

Mystery
Home alone on a school night
Harvest moon over the blue land
Summer longing on the wind

Had a sweetheart on his knees
So faithful and adoring
And he touched me. And I let him love me.
So let that be my story

Listening
For the hope, for the new life
Something beautiful, a new chance
Hear its whispering
There again."

The last notes faded, and Rachel lifted her fingers from the piano to stare into its polished surface at her own distorted image. It wasn't until she was hastily brushing away the moisture in her eyes that she heard a muffled sniffle and fully remembered Quinn.

Her gaze connected with Quinn's, and her heart splintered. Hazel eyes were wide with pain, and one trembling hand was pressed over her mouth as tears streamed down her cheeks. Rachel stood automatically, intending to comfort the girl, but the shrill scraping of the bench against the tiled floor startled Quinn into a defensive retreat. She jumped from her chair and grabbed her notebook, gasping, "I have to go," as she struggled to regain her composure.

She was halfway to the door when Rachel called out her name. She stopped but didn't turn, and Rachel gently told her, "If you want to talk about…"

"No!" Quinn growled, swiveling her body around and pinning Rachel with a hard glare. Her tear tracks glistened under the harsh lights, but she could already see Quinn's walls sliding back up and locking out the rest of the world. "Just forget it, Berry."

"But…"

"God, can't you ever just be quiet?" she hissed, and Rachel flinched at the icy contempt bleeding back into her voice. She silently cursed herself for unwittingly setting Quinn off again, because she'd known that song would touch a very raw nerve.

She watched Quinn agitatedly swipe at the remnants of her tears, purse her lips, and square her shoulders, completing the transformation back into the untouchable head-bitch-in-charge before stalking out of the room. Rachel growled and kicked the piano leg in frustration, only to blanch when she turned back around and saw Brad standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips and giving her the evil-eye.

"Ah…s-sorry," she stuttered, jumping away from the piano and gathering up her bag. "I was just going—yeah," she raced past him with her head dropped, as to not incite him further, and chirped, "Bye, Brad," before taking off in a very vigorous power walk down the hall.

•••

After the unfortunate end to their encounter in the choir room, it really came as no surprise to Rachel when Quinn reclaimed her normal desk in Literature, refusing to look at her any time she attempted eye contact. She supposed she should count herself lucky that she wasn't receiving a death glare. Avoidance was a familiar strategy for the two of them.

She smiled at Tina when she came in and the first words out of the girl's mouth were a stuttered apology. "I didn't know we'd get stuck working in pairs. If it makes you feel better, I think you got the better deal. At least Quinn isn't evil."

"I heard that, Ms. Saigon," Santana growled from two rows back.

"She scares me," Tina whispered.

"She scares everyone," Rachel quietly agreed. "I think it might be a life goal."

The class dragged on without incident, and Quinn flew from the room as soon as the bell rang. Rachel wasn't surprised. She and Tina walked out together and headed for glee, chatting idly about their shared classes. One by one, the other kids trickled into the choir room with Quinn arriving last and practically sitting in Sam's lap—really, could their chairs be any closer together? Rachel shrugged off her (completely unjustified) annoyance, and attempted to move her own chair closer to Finn.

Mr. Schuester breezed in with a smile, tossing his briefcase on the desk and leaning on the edge. "Hi, guys. I know it's Friday, and you all typically just like to jam a little and get out of here for the weekend."

"Hell, yeah," Puck shouted.

"But, only a few of you have completed your assignments this week, and I want to get a few more in. So who's ready? "

"I'll go, Mr. Schue," Finn volunteered with a grin.

Rachel frowned when she realized that she had no idea what song her boyfriend had chosen. She'd given him a list filled with Broadway classics—a little Sinatra, some Barry Manilow (which had been entirely Noah's fault because he'd gotten hold of her list and scribbled down a few songs in permanent ink and explaining to Finn how that had happened wasn't something Rachel was prepared to do) and her own personal recommendation, the king himself, Mr. Elvis Presley. He was a classic, after all.

But when Finn got up in front of the room and starting shaking his groove thing to Ke$ha's Your Love Is My Drug, Rachel literally face-palmed. She honestly didn't know whether to be amused or embarrassed for him. Finn wasn't the most graceful dancer under the best circumstances, and watching him hop around the room in an attempt to channel Mike Chang was more frightening than listening to Mr. Schue rap. She supposed she had to give him points for trying.

Most of the kids seemed to be having a good time with his performance. Brittany was up and dancing with Mike, and everyone was joining in on the chorus. Rachel figured she was probably the only one less than impressed, but really, Finn was her leading man. His choice of goofy bubblegum pop was not appropriate for that coveted position. Still, when he reached down to grab her hands and pull her to her feet, she could hardly refuse to be a good, supportive girlfriend and dance with him.

When he twirled her around, she noticed that Quinn was still in her seat wearing a mask of indifference, even though Sam was nudging her in an attempt to get her to join in. Finn recaptured Rachel's attention when he musically asked her if she wanted to have slumber party in his basement, and she couldn't help but laugh at his puppy dog expression.

"Your love, your love, your love, your love," he bent down closer to Rachel and whispered, "is my drug," and thank God he finished with a chaste kiss instead of the actual last line. She could only imagine the fresh material that Santana or Quinn would have if her boyfriend told her, 'I like your beard.'

"That was really…uh, something, Finn," Mr. Schuester said diplomatically. "I don't think we'll be taking it to Regionals, but great job getting out of your comfort zone."

"Finn, what happened to the list I gave you," Rachel whispered harshly when they sat down.

"I threw it away. No offense, but those songs really sucked."

Rachel gasped, completely affronted. "They were classics!"

"Who's next?" Mr. Schue wanted to know.

"Well, since my dear stepbrother warmed up the audience with that incredibly gay performance…"

"Hey!"

"Allow me to demonstrate how the roof should be raised," Kurt drawled with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and Rachel leaned forward in anticipation, knowing what song he'd chosen (thanks to Santana's influence.)

A lick of the guitar had Kurt ditching his normal cool and aloof aura to vent a little musical steam, dipping his voice into his lower register.

"Right right, turn off the lights.
We gonna lose our minds tonight.
What's the dealio?
I love when it's all too much.
Five a.m., turn the radio up.
Where's the rock and roll?"

He took Rachel's hand and pulled her from her seat.

"Party crasher, penny snatcher."

He smirked and tugged Mercedes out of her chair.

"Call me up if you want gangsta."

He pointed up to Santana, who responded with a snap of her fingers.

"Don't be fancy, just get dancey."

He urged Brittany up to dance, then nodded at Puck.

"Why so serious?"

"So raise your glass
if you are wrong,
in all the right ways.
All my underdogs,
we will never be never be
anything but loud and nitty gritty
dirty little freak.
Won't you come on and come on and
raise your glass,
just come on and come on and
raise your glass."

Mike and Tina bounced down the risers to join the party. Puck twirled Santana, and Brittany danced around Artie. Sam pulled Quinn into the mix and soon enough the whole club was up and dancing again, forgetting about any conflicts or personal disagreements that existed outside of glee.

Rachel was having so much fun dancing with Kurt, then Mercedes and Tina and Finn, that she barely noticed when she ended up crossing into Quinn's orbit until she spun into her. Quinn reached out and caught her arms to steady her, bodies bumping together enticingly for just a moment before they both jumped back and twisted away.

"Just come on and come on and raise your glass. For me."

Kurt looped his arm under Rachel's as he finished the song, and she forced her heart to stop racing as she smiled up at her friend and told him how wonderful he was.

"Oh, sweetie, no need to keep stating the obvious."

Rachel laughed, "and so modest, too."

"But of course," he winked down at her.

"Excellent job, Kurt." Mr. Schue said before the bell cut him off. Everyone started gathering up their belongings and heading for the door as he called over the chatter, "Have a great weekend guys, and be ready to pick this up on Monday."

Kurt bumped Rachel's shoulder. "And you—be ready to be picked up at five. I have plans for you."

She swallowed nervously at the thought of being dragged into every store at the Lima Mall, but nodded anyway. She watched him walk over to the corner where Mercedes and Quinn were talking. He leaned in to say something to Mercedes, who smiled and took his outstretched arm, waving goodbye to Quinn as the boy led her away. She waved back, but the relaxed, happy expression on her face fell away when her eyes landed on Rachel.

Rachel took a half step forward, not certain exactly what she was intending to do, but Finn's arm falling across her shoulder saved her from figuring it out. When she glanced up at him, Quinn took the opportunity to hastily bolt from the room, and Rachel was left wondering why her urge to run after the girl was so very strong.

"Whispering," from Spring Awakening
"Your Love Is My Drug," performed by Ke$ha
"Raise Your Glass," performed by P!nk

A/N: No, I couldn't resist tossing in something from Spring Awakening. If you haven't heard the song, head over to YouTube and check it out. Thank you for the feedback.