Rachel wakes up the next morning to find that at some point during the night, she and Quinn swapped positions and now her arms are wrapped around Quinn's waist and her own head rests against Quinn's back. Funny, she never saw herself as the big spoon. She considers leaping out of bed to prepare brunch and bring it back to bed, but the warmth of Quinn's body and the comfort of the blankets makes it next to impossible to do anything but snuggle closer and wrap herself even more tightly in the moment. She feels both excited and soothed with Quinn in her arms on a bright Saturday morning. It's so easy and comfortable to just lie here. She wonders if this has been a dream. There's no way this relationship of sorts could be working out so well, or that it could be this fulfilling. She worries that if she closes her eyes she'll open them and find herself alone. The thought alone forces her groggy eyes open. She scans Quinn's shoulders and back for unfamiliar marks and freckles, and observes the color of her hair. It's blonde, of course, but it's so much more. Some strands are so light they're almost white, and some are a rich caramel, while others are spun gold. They all blend harmoniously and Rachel gets lost in the tones.
Quinn rolls over a few minutes later and Rachel settles onto her bare chest. Quinn is mumbling something that sounds like "good morning," but it's impossible to tell when Quinn won't open her mouth. Rachel stretches up to press a kiss to her lips, but Quinn's hand flies to cover her mouth before Rachel can strike.
"Don't," she commands. "My breath is really, really bad."
Rachel laughs. "Oh come on, everyone has bad breath in the morning. I don't care."
"No, Rach. It's really bad. You don't get it. I-"
"I think I can handle it."
Rachel cuts her off with a kiss, and instantly regrets it.
That settles it. It's not a dream. If it were Quinn's breath would taste like peaches or a dewy summer morning or something equally cliché.
"Quinn Fabray, did something crawl into your mouth and die?"
"I told you so!" Quinn squeals, as much as Quinn can squeal (her voice and demeanor don't lend themselves easily to high pitched exclamations), and swats Rachel's hands away from her face. "You set yourself up!"
"You didn't work very hard to stop me. And now you're responsible for this horrifyingly foul taste in my mouth. Honestly I'm concerned that something might be rotting in your throat."
"Oh stop it," Quinn says. She's blushing furiously and burying back under the covers.
"I would if I could, Quinn, but I truly believe I've been poisoned. I don't know kinds of bacteria you've exposed me to-" but then Quinn's hands grab her foot and she screams as Quinn starts to tickle the soles of her feet and the backs of her knees. "Stop it!" She gasps. "I surrender! Your breath is perfect and normal and non-lethal just let me go!"
She's tickling Rachel's waist and Rachel can't help but writhe around in a fit of frustrated laughter. "Stop it, Quinn! I'm extremely ticklish!"
"I've noticed," Quinn says without stopping.
"Quinn, if you don't stop tickling me, I'm not responsible for whatever injuries you may sustain so it's in your best interest to-"
Quinn's fingers stop their relentless attack and Oh. Quinn's mouth closes hotly over her. This is much better than being tickled.
They're flushed and warm as they lie cuddled together, completely immune now to each other's morning breath.
"This is so nice," she announces.
"Yeah, it is," Quinn agrees. She presses a gentle kiss to Rachel's forehead and closes her eyes. "Where are your dads?"
"They're at the farmer's market. They usually spend the morning at the farmer's market and then spend the rest of the afternoon out." She considers this a moment before the significance occurs to her. "This is the first time we've ever had the opportunity to just…you know, be, without worrying or checking the clock every ten minutes waiting for the moment to fall apart."
"We could stay like this all day," Quinn whispers, looking away. As much as Rachel wants to jump on the comment, she assumes that Quinn didn't mean to contribute that to the conversation. It's still a delicate push and pull and she's constantly reading Quinn's expressions and tones, trying to keep the peace and balance that has miraculously kept this, can she call it a relationship?, together.
The sound of her stomach growling pulls her out of her analysis and she glances at Quinn, who grins. "Hungry?" She asks.
"Maybe a little," she admits with defeat. She'd rather stay in bed in the nest they've created together than eat, but she can't deny the rumbling of her stomach.
"Good, because I'm starving."
Rachel raises an eyebrow in perfect imitation of Quinn. "But you just ate."
The color rises to Quinn's cheeks faster than Rachel thinks is healthy or normal. "That was incredibly crude!"
Rachel giggles behind her hand and Quinn smacks her with a pillow. "You think it's funny and you just don't want to admit it."
Quinn doesn't say anything but she dives under the blanket again, and before she can get a hand on her feet again, Rachel has leapt out of the bed and hastily pulls on a pair of shorts and a tank top and runs out of the room before Quinn can catch her. She hears her bedroom door open and close again and she knows that Quinn isn't far behind. She takes the stairs two at a time and just manages to slip out of Quinn's reach by sliding across the floor into the kitchen-
Where Dad and Daddy are sitting at the kitchen table.
Quinn tumbles in after her, still hot on her trail, but skids to a stop when she notices the two men sitting silent and shocked before them.
Daddy breaks the silence first. "Rachel, we didn't know you had company."
"I—I thought you would be at the farmer's market," she stutters.
"We were, but we came back early." Dad looks her up and down without meeting her eyes, and then back to his paper. She looks at herself and notices then that her shirt is backwards, and her shorts are inside out.
Quinn is virtually silent. The playful morning is forgotten instantly as the awkward situation unfolds . How long have they been here? What did they hear? Had she really moaned as loudly as she remembers? She thinks she can feel the same questions furrowing Quinn's brows. Rachel has known her long enough now to know that she's dying to run.
"Are you going to introduce your guest, Rachel?" Daddy asks gently. She nods.
"Dads, this is Quinn. Quinn, these are my dads. So now that we've all met, we're going to go now and I'm going to take Quinn home."
"Nonsense," Daddy says. "We were just about to make lunch. We have enough for everyone I'm sure. You two should stay."
"Oh Daddy, I don't think Quinn wants to have lunch with us, I'm sure she just wants to go home."
"Why don't we let Quinn speak for herself." Daddy looks pointedly at Quinn, who wilts under his gaze. The silence is heavy and the expectations are high.
"Okay," Quinn agrees. "I guess I can stay."
"So Quinn, Rachel didn't tell us you'd be staying over. I thought she was at Kurt's house with Mercedes last night." Daddy bites into a piece of toast and Rachel takes her cup in her hand and drains it to stall for time.
Rachel puts down her orange juice. "Quinn was there, too."
"I didn't think you two really ran in the same circle outside of the glee club," Hiram says.
"Well, Quinn…she's dating Finn…so she was over there last night too and we all were hit with inspiration for a number at the same time so we were all rehearsing together. But then Quinn needed extra help with the choreography so I thought I'd bring her over here to practice in the studio downstairs."
Quinn steps on her foot, a clear rebuttal of the claim that Rachel is the superior dancer.
"I'm surprised that the captain of the Cheerios needed extra help with choreography," Leroy muses. Rachel takes a large bite of her tofu scramble and considers a reply as she chews.
"Well, it was more a matter of keeping the steps in order and singing at the same time."
They don't believe her. It's painfully obvious. Her fingers find Quinn's under the table and they squeeze hard, clinging to each other as they face the inquisition. Rachel's been helping me with my breath control so I can sing and dance at the same time without my voice shaking."
The lie flows easily and confidently from her lips. Rachel is surprised, but she remembers who is sitting next to her. This is the girl who convinced her virgin boyfriend that he had impregnated her. Lying isn't a foreign concept to her. The thought doesn't provide the comfort Rachel thought it would and she sets her eyes on her plate.
"So what song is it?"
Rachel snaps to attention. "Which song?"
"The song you all were working on last night. Is it a number for Nationals? You all must be working hard to get ready for that."
"Oh, right. Yes. It's for Nationals. We're just playing around with a few ideas and Mercedes mentioned the Eurythmics and we thought Quinn would sound great on lead for Sweet Dreams so we just wanted to try out some arrangements and see where it went."
It isn't really a lie. They had been talking about the idea a few days ago. It hadn't actually manifested into anything usable, but she felt better telling her dads something that had at least a little truth at the center.
"Do you like performing with the glee club, Quinn? How does it compare to cheering?"
"I'm not on the Cheerios anymore, Mr. Berry," Quinn replies simply. "I had to make a choice between what I loved and what I thought I needed to be happy and I couldn't have chosen more wisely. Besides, Coach Sylvester's thirty hour weekend practices were starting to really impact my grades and I need a 4.0 if I want to stay at the head of my class and get into an Ivy."
Rachel can see the shock on his face and she couldn't be prouder of Quinn's response.
"I had no idea you were such an academic," Daddy answers.
Quinn shrugs. "I've always loved to read. Learning comes naturally to me."
"Where are you applying next year?" Dad asks. Suddenly he's interested and Rachel feels uncomfortable. She and Quinn haven't had this conversation yet, and while it's no secret that Rachel is headed to New York, there's a small, secret part of her that hopes Quinn will come along.
"Harvard, Yale, Stanford, Columbia, NYU, Oberlin, Northwestern, and Ohio State as a safety." She rattles off the list like she's been reciting it since she was a kid. "My mom wants me to go to Harvard so I can make connections at the Divinity school, but I'm not so sure about that."
"What do you want to study?" Rachel asks. This is eye opening, really. They haven't talked about things like this. She knows Quinn likes to read, but she doesn't know what Quinn wants to study or where she hopes to go or what she wants to do after she graduates. Everyone at McKinley knows about her dreams and her prospects: graduation, New York, Broadway, stardom. But Quinn, with her reservation and boundaries, is still a mystery.
"Neuroscience," she says simply. "I want to be a doctor."
It's as if every time she sees Quinn she learns so much more and sees her in a completely different light. Doctor Fabray does have a ring to it.
Her dads make the obligatory reference to "Doctor Quinn: Medicine Woman," and Quinn laughs along gamely. Rachel starts to relax and only then does she realize how tightly she's been clenching her jaw.
Quinn excuses herself to use the bathroom, and the moment she is out of earshot, her fathers lean in.
"Why is Quinn Fabray here?" Hiram asks, his voice low.
"I already told you. We were rehearsing a number for glee and she needed more help so I brought her back here—"
"I'm not buying it, Rachel. There's no way you would allow someone else to sing lead at Nationals. Now I want to know the truth. Why is Quinn Fabray in our house? I've told you over and over that I don't want you spending time with her."
"Hiram, relax," Leroy soothes, always the peacekeeper.
"I don't trust her, Le. I've said it once and I'll say it again. I don't trust her and I can't imagine that she isn't going to make some sort of attempt to humiliate Rachel—"
"Dad, would you stop it?" She erupts. "I don't understand what the problem is. Why shouldn't she be here? She's a friend of mine and I don't understand why you both feel that you have the right to determine whom I consider worthwhile!"
"Rachel, lower your voice. This is unacceptable."
"Is it that you think I'm not good enough for Quinn Fabray? That I'm still the awkward, self obsessed little girl who sat alone in her room praying for the day someone would notice her? Why is it so hard to believe that maybe, just maybe, Quinn likes me? Why must there be an ulterior motive?"
Her face is hot and the words are spilling out, harsh and angry, as her voice climbs higher and higher.
"You will not speak to us like this, Rachel. What has gotten into you?" Dad's voice is clipped and unsympathetic. She had expected an apology, but it's clear now that she won't be getting one. "Maybe this is how Quinn talks to her parents, but you will not disrespect your father and me like this. I absolutely will not stand for it. It's clear already that Quinn is a bad influence. You've been sneaky and withdrawn and secretive for weeks now. I don't want you spending any more time with her. Is that clear?"
"No!" Rachel exclaims. "I'm nearly eighteen years old! You don't get to decide things like this for me anymore! I get to decide who my friends are—not you! The bottom line is that I know Quinn better than you do, either of you, and I trust her. Why isn't that good enough for you?"
"Because we've seen what she's done to you, Rachel. You're our daughter and we don't want you to get hurt."
"Well, thanks for your concern for my well-being, but I've got this under control and it has nothing to do with either of you."
"I've had enough, Rachel. This ends now. Do whatever you want, but remember who washed out the Slushie stains out of all of your clothes, and who worked the gum out of your hair, and who spent hours on the phone with endless teachers, coaches, and principals every time Quinn found a new way to make you miserable."
"This is different, Dad. You don't understand!"
She feels terribly juvenile and incredibly embarrassed, but both of those feelings are less intense than the anger and frustration blinding her vision. She storms out of the kitchen and finds a shell-shocked Quinn standing in the hallway.
"We're leaving," Rachel announces before leading the way to the car.
When Rachel returns twenty minutes later after one of the most awkward car rides she can imagine, her dads are sitting stonily in the living room. There's no way to sneak up the stairs unseen and quietly seethe in her room if they're on the sofa, and they know it.
"Rachel, we need to talk," Daddy says. He says it nicely, but it's not a request.
"Okay," she surrenders. She remembers her outburst vividly and shame burns through her. She's never argued with her dads on a scale like this before and she's absolutely humiliate. She shuffles into the room and curls up in her favorite chair, hugging her knees to her chest.
"We want to know what's going on. You've been out of sorts for weeks and it seems like Quinn is at the crux of this. What is happening between you two?" Daddy's using his therapist voice and Rachel hates feeling like one of his patients.
"Nothing. We're just spending more time together. We're a good match vocally."
"Is she bullying you, Rachel? Is she forcing you into this or something? You've just been so on edge lately," Dad notes. The anger has faded from his voice and his eyes are softer. The concern on his face brings a lump to her throat and she swallows back the tightness.
"No," she says. "It's nothing like that. I told you, we're just spending more time together. We're putting the past behind us and trying to grow up."
"We don't want you to get hurt, Rachel. You're so special. You don't need her approval or attention to validate yourself. I know how you throw yourself into everything you do, but after everything over the years, is it worth it?
Daddy looks at his clasped hands in his lap while Dad puts forth his evidence and says nothing.
"It's just that we've seen you try so hard for so long, Bug. Ever since you were in dance class together you've wanted so badly to strike up a friendship. We watched you rush to her side during her pregnancy and you've always been quick to defend her. We're just worried about you trying so hard for someone who has given you nothing in return for all of your efforts."
It hurts. And it hurts because it's true.
Daddy finally looks up.
"Rachel, are you in love with Quinn Fabray?" He asks quietly.
That's all it takes for the dam to break. She presses her head to her knees and weeps. Long, ragged, keening cries that shake her body and ring in her ears. Her dads are at her side and she feels their hands on her back.
"Oh Rachel…" Dad sighs. "Oh, my Rachel."
"Sweetheart, it's all right. It's okay."
She cries until her throat is raw and her eyes burn. Her dads just rub her back and hold her tight. When her cries die down Daddy heads to the kitchen and returns with a glass of water. She sips slowly and feels herself start to calm down.
"Can we talk about this, Rach?" Dad asks gently. She nods and wipes her nose with the edge of her sleeve.
"I think I'm gay," she whispers hoarsely. Dad takes a long, shuddering breath and Daddy takes one of his hands.
"Okay."
They sit in uncomfortable silence until Daddy asks, "Are you two…dating?"
She's not sure how to answer. Technically, no, but in practice, sort of. She just nods. She expects Dad to say something about the irony of such conservative Christian parents having a gay daughter, but he doesn't. He just looks at her sadly, like he can feel her pain and is wearing it on his face.
"But what about Finn and Puck and Jesse and all of that?" Rachel can only shrug.
"I think," she starts, "that I only wanted to be with Finn because I was so jealous that he was with Quinn. If I couldn't be with her, I didn't want anyone else to be with her either." Daddy nods as if that makes perfect sense, even though the logic is completely invalid.
"Rachel, I'm so sorry." Dad puts his face in his hands and Rachel watches his shoulders shake. "I'm so sorry I've made this so difficult for you and I'm so sorry you didn't feel like you could tell us how you felt."
She joins her dads on the couch and they snuggle close together, all three of them crying amid questions and answers.
"Above all, Rachel, we love and support you. We just want you to be happy and safe. We will try to put the past behind us, but we will always look out for you."
She hugs them, amazed by how much lighter she feels after finally telling someone about these feelings. After the topic is completely exhausted, Rachel heads to her room to relax and her dads read the paper together.
The first thing she does is pick up her phone and send a text to Quinn.
What a crazy morning. I came out to my dads and told them about you and us. Things are much better here now.
She smiles, feeling like she can finally breath for the first time in weeks.
It takes a few minutes before her phone buzzes with a response. She flips it open and opens Quinn's message.
You did WHAT? I can't believe this, Rachel. What were you thinking?
In an instant her stomach is leaden and her head starts to spin when she gets another message.
How dare you out me like that? What if they say something to my mom? This is exactly why we're keeping this a secret. Are you insane?
Rachel furiously types a reply. Don't you understand, Quinn? Now we have somewhere we don't have to hide; we're safe here.
She hopes this might calm Quinn down and put things into perspective, but her phone buzzes angrily right away. Not a good sign.
I can't talk to you right now. Especially about this.
Rachel lies back on her bed and cries tears she didn't know she had left. The last twenty four hours have been such an emotional roller coaster. It's all coming together in a confusing blur. She does what she can to close her eyes and shut out the world, if only for a little while, and put the pieces into focus.
[A/N] Thanks, as always, for your patience. I'm currently in Jerusalem on a summer program so my internet connection has been spotty at best. I'm considering changing the title of this story from In My Secret Life to Words are Just Words Anyway. What do you all think?
As always, my favorite phrase is "I like this." (though I will also accept 'I hated this and here's why') :)