Thank you to everyone who is still following this and who has reviewed - it is greatly appreciated. This is a bit of a filler chapter - but I promise that the plot will start to progress again in the next few. Enjoy.
Chapter 25 - Connections
Present.
Rachel's fingertips glided over the piano keys slightly stiffly. It had been so long since she had played that it felt awkward, each note pressed too hard or not hard enough, each sound jarring despite being technically correct. In all honesty, the piano had never been her greatest instrumental love; she found it far too introspective to sit and play, but it was that very quality that had drawn her to it over the last few days. She had been uncharacteristically searching; processing.
There was a prickling feeling on the back of her neck; a slow warmth that spread across her skin.
Without looking up, she knew that Quinn was in the room with her, that the blonde was carefully keeping her distance. The notes jarred as Rachel's fingers slipped on the ivory keys and she stopped playing abruptly. The frustration that she felt was nothing to do with the music. She gritted her teeth to keep the irritated sigh from escaping her.
Instead of gaining the clarity that she had believed she could distil in the peace of their surroundings, each day that passed left her more confused.
More than ever, her relationship with the blonde doctor was oscillating between extremes; one minute their interactions held an iciness that chilled her to the core, but the next minute an accidental touch would set her skin on fire. It felt, to Rachel, as though the air was thick and heavy, that every word spoken was ready to start a storm that neither of them was in a fit state to weather. Worse than that, however, was that Rachel knew that it was her own turmoil that was driving their discord… for since the day that they had fled New York, Quinn had been painfully honest with her. Evenings were spent at a careful distance, speaking in low tones as layer by layer the woman she had known and somehow never known revealed herself, peeling back each translucent skin, slowly and delicately. It was with a muted horror that Rachel absorbed each quiet word, and yet, somehow, she remained unsatisfied, pushing for more and more, reaching out and then retracting, again and again and again. It was painful.
She held her breath as she heard Quinn move around the room, glancing up to look at the doctor obliquely. The honey blonde hair framed her face, a serious set to the line of her full lips. She was wrapping her coat about herself.
'Where are you going?'
Rachel's question came out with more force than she intended it to, an accusation that made Quinn's spine straighten.
The hazel eyes cut to hers with a flash of impatience and it was just that kind of look, the look that reminded her so potently of the girl that Quinn had been, that made Rachel's belly dip. For days Rachel had been pushing her; pushing and pushing against her, and Quinn had yielded with seemingly endless patience to each of her questions and demands. It was only on seeing the spark of irritation in the blonde's eyes that reminded Rachel of what she was missing, and she did miss it, the steely strength that hovered beneath the soft skin.
'Does it matter?' Quinn asked, zipping up her coat deliberately. Rachel opened her mouth to respond, a little taken aback by the blonde's subtle shift in attitude. Quinn placed her hands into the pockets of the coat, turning fully to face the singer who remained seated at the piano.
'I won't go far,' she started with a deep weariness to her tone, 'I just need to get away.'
Rachel blinked.
'Away…' she stated blankly.
'Away from you,' Quinn replied quietly, shrugging her shoulders, 'I need to get away from you, Rachel.'
The words felt as though a sharp knife had cut into her, twisting painfully in her chest. Though Quinn knew her well enough to see the impact of her words on the singer, her brow did not soften, and neither did her eyes. She shook her head helplessly.
'I will only apologise so many times,' she stated flatly. 'You can either accept that or not, but it is not healthy to continue like this; not for me and not for you… We need space. We need to move on.'
It was a strange distress that stirred within her as she looked back at the doctor. A fear that she would finally lose her; that maybe the wounds would never heal, that the truth she was so painstakingly distilling was this.
'I don't know…' she started, vulnerably, the words that she was afraid of falling heavily from her lips, 'I don't know if I can forgive you.'
In the silence that followed, the light seemed to fade in Quinn's darkening eyes. Her body stilled and she sucked in a breath through her perfectly straight teeth. Rachel saw again the pain that she was causing the woman, yet couldn't help herself from inflicting it.
'That's your… choice,' the doctor replied, her voice hollow. 'But I am not going to apologise anymore…I am done, Rachel. I did what I did because I loved you.' She shrugged her shoulders, speaking so softly. 'You know that. I wanted to protect you, and it killed me that I had to hurt you to do it… but it was the only way, the only way that I could think of…'
Her lips closed around the words, forming a thin and final line.
'And I know why you can't forgive me,' she whispered, 'I understand, Rachel, because, we both know that, given the choice again… I would make the same decision.'
As she turned to leave, Rachel shot up from the piano, anger sparking once more.
'How can you say that?' she demanded, a furious frown crossing her features. 'After everything that has happened… after you and me, and Cambodia, and the documentary… and everything that will happen…'
A short burst of humourless laughter erupted from the blonde, almost disdainful in its outburst as it cut her off. The hazel eyes were hard, a hardness that had developed over the years; Quinn didn't need to speak aloud what was spoken plainly by her eyes. There was only so far that anyone could push her, and she had reached her limit. She turned to walk away, leaving Rachel calling out to her back.
New York. Present.
The offices of Goldberg, Cox and Lee were located in a high rise building in central Manhattan. In summer, the heat through the large glass windows threw the air conditioning system into overdrive, something that made Santana pleased that her office was on the North facing side of the building. However, in the darker months nothing could be more depressing than looking out into the rain that lashed against the glass. Today was no different; the storm clouds had gathered once again and Santana glanced up from the file that she was reviewing to frown out at the steely grey sky.
It had been four days since she had visited Kimberly's apartment in the middle of the night, four days since she had seen her son and wife drive away. She had barely left the office in that time, eating, drinking and sleeping there. Though sleep itself was evasive and when it came, it was haunted.
This wasn't the first murder trial that Santana had been involved with, but it was certainly the biggest. The key, her law school professor had once told her, to a good defence lawyer was tenacity. To aggressively pursue every line of enquiry that may help the client's case; in this aspect Kimberly Stanton-Lee took the job to a whole new level. It wasn't just the circumstances around one murder that they were trying to address but for twelve, and for each of them the list went on; forensic pathology, CCTV enhancement, DNA, ballistics, fingerprints. But if Stanton-Lee was the conductor in this production, then Santana was aiming to become her first violinist, and at the back of her mind she felt her uncertainty thicken.
'Why the change in attitude?'
Ben's voice startled her from the text that she had been reading and she looked up to see him hovering in the doorway.
'Good morning to you too,' she replied pointedly.
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, stepping in to the office.
'Last week you couldn't get far enough away from this case,' he stated, 'and now you are practically living in the office.'
She had forgotten how irritatingly astute he could be when it came to reading her and rolled her eyes.
'I realised that my career is worth more to me than my morals,' she replied.
'Hmmm,' he shrugged in a non-committal manner, his eyes never leaving her face as he carefully shut the door behind him. 'Well… we both know that what will win this case.'
Aware that he was not going away she leant back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap.
'And what's that?' she raised a sceptical eyebrow.
Ben smirked.
'Money.'
Though it was likely to be true, a spike of irritation shot through her.
'This firm is reputable, even if our client is not,' she stated, her tone brittle.
He seemed unfazed by her annoyance, that lazy smile crossing his features.
'Your client,' he echoed, tapping his fingertips against the door, once, twice. 'Is your client Joseph Waters? Or is it the Lucchese Family?'
Santana pursed her lips, biting back the quick retort that was ready on her tongue.
'What do you mean?' she asked instead and the smile faded from his lips, darkened his eyes.
'It occurred to me,' he started, 'just this morning, that maybe the Lucchese and Mr Waters do not have the same objectives. If they could so easily bribe a judge to grant him bail then why not do that in the first place? Why fuck around for nine months preparing a case?' He shrugged his shoulders. 'And most importantly, for you, why kill their lawyer?'
'We don't know who killed the lawyer.'
He shrugged. 'Not definitively.'
They were questions that, had Santana not had a plethora of other issues to deal with, she may have pondered herself. Each of them sounded as hard as a marble hitting the ground, questions that were statements, statements that were questions. Her head was already foggy with her own indecision; with half formed thoughts and formulations.
'Tell me what you are getting at, Ben,' she sighed irritably.
'What I'm getting at,' he responded quietly, 'is that maybe the Lucchese don't want Waters to get off… He had nine months to make a plea bargain with the prosecution, Lopez. Maybe he said too much. Maybe he knows too much.'
She rubbed at the bridge of her nose, trying to stem the tension headache that she could feel forming like a steel band around her temples.
'You think that they want him dead?' she asked, almost disbelievingly; after the rollercoaster of the last week, she was sure that nothing would surprise her again.
'I'm just thinking aloud,' he replied evasively. 'But I will be amazed if this case gets to trial.'
Santana frowned, glancing down at the papers in front of her, her own dark thoughts gathering like the storm clouds. If her half-formed intentions were realised then they would certainly never reach trial; at least, not the trial that the Lucchese family intended for Joseph Waters.
Present.
The snow crunched below her feet as she steadily climbed the slope, cutting between the trees along the incline and steadying herself against the rough bark when the path became particularly steep. Although the cold wind cut through her, it was with a certain sense of exhilaration that Quinn pushed forwards, squinting against the glare of the sunlight on the untouched snow. As she reached the summit, her breath seemed to catch in her throat, though whether it was from the exertion of the climb or from the great expanse of the white valley that spread out before her, she could not tell.
It was the landscape from a dream, from her dreams; never-ending and white and full of unfulfilled promise, the clear blue of the cold sky above, the rolling diamond white below. Through frozen lips, Quinn sucked in the cold air.
Each day, since they had arrived, she had climbed to this summit. Each day she had searched for answers, within herself, and without. She had prayed for solutions to the questions that she had posed, the web within which she had been entangled. Each day she had come back empty, the path ahead still so unclear. Her frustration was growing.
A bird, above, flustered in the branches, and Quinn squinted up at it as it fought to break free, only to fly away, dipping down into the valley and away. She watched it go with a strange sense of loss, following it until it faded to a dark spot against the white landscape and finally disappeared. Moments later, she heard the crunch of boots on the snow and turned quickly, recognising the brunette as she emerged from the woods.
Rachel looked up at her, her cheeks flushed from the climb and from the cold. Something about the set of her shoulders set Quinn on edge.
'Hey…' the singer breathed, catching her breath from the steep walk. She seemed to hesitate at the edge of the trees, at the unspoken boundary that neither could cross to the other.
Quinn couldn't help the surprise that fell upon her features, feeling suddenly and unexpectedly vulnerable. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest and she folded her arms defensively across her body. The tension between them crackled with a static kind of energy, the kind that hangs in the air before a great and devastating storm… she recognised it. Feared it. Aware of the devastation that Rachel could cause her.
'I…' Rachel started, seeming suddenly so unsure of herself.
The singer had clearly followed her in the snow, and despite the glorious views that spread out across the valley, the dark eyes were fixed upon the doctor alone. The cold wind blew the errant blonde hair across her forehead, seemingly stealing Rachel's words as well.
'I…' she started again, but struggled with whatever was coming next. The frown that settled on her features was filled with such frustration that it confused Quinn all the more. Instead the brunette shook her head to herself and barrelled on, taking the last few steps towards her.
'Rachel?'
In surprise, Quinn had finally found her voice, but the name seemed to wilt on her lips.
Rachel stopped opposite her, just out of reach, her hands clenching and unclenching by her sides. Sunlight glowed on her skin and Quinn felt the hairs rise across the back of her neck.
'Rach…' she started again, only to have the singer look at her sharply.
'Shhhh…' she whispered.
The brunette glanced out across the valley, at the winter sun that blazed in the sky, at the endless white and blue, a world frozen in time, but her eyes were drawn back to the pale features of the woman she had never stopped loving. When the wind died down, the day was still about them, the heavy silence of the snow and the woods and everything that had been in-between. That heavy silence of all the words unspoken, in the years that had passed.
'Just… shhhh…' Rachel murmured, her eyes blazing with such intensity that Quinn's breath caught. She could almost feel as the singer pushed against the invisible barrier between them, the space that was defined more by its emptiness than its existence. It was just a decision, a simple choice that crystalised. The blonde watched as Rachel stepped forwards, taking a steadying breath as she reached out across the distance between them.
The cold fingertips pressed gently against her cheek and Quinn felt her eyebrows knit together, afraid to break the unexpected moment that seemed so fragile. More slowly than any kiss they had ever shared, Rachel moved closer to press her parted lips against Quinn's own.
Soft and cold and gentle.
Hazel eyes closed against the feeling that was making her heart flutter in her chest. Instead of pulling away from her, Rachel's lips just became more insistent, pressing firmly against her own. The sweetness of her conflicting with her forcefulness, as gentleness melted away. Quinn's hand grasped at the front of the brunette's coat, pulling her closer, and almost overbalanced them both into the snow.
Above them, Quinn could hear another bird, its wings batting furiously against the tree as it made its escape up towards the clear blue sky. Rachel's hand tangled in her hair, kissing her hungrily, sacrificing finesse for intensity. She could feel the sharp edges of her perfectly-straight teeth as they nipped into her lower lip. When she finally pulled away, needing air and equilibrium, Quinn's eyes were bright and feverish, and in looking at her, Rachel's fingers tightened in her hair. The blonde made no move to pull away, shocked and breathless.
'I've been so stupid,' the brunette breathed.
'Rach…'
'Shut up,' the singer hissed against her, her dark eyes serious, 'just shut up, Quinn… Listen for once.'
The blonde's body seemed to be reacting on its own to the very proximity of the singer, she was almost trembling she realised, and instead of stepping away, Rachel was pulling her even closer. Their foreheads pressing together. Quinn closed her eyes, squeezed them shut as she tried to shut out the intoxicating smell of her, so familiar that it stirred hope within her. A certain kind of joy that she had denied herself for so long.
'I love you,' Rachel's words were more of a growl, deep and raw, 'and you love me…'
The hand that was tangled in her hair gripped her almost painfully, but the tears that squeezed from her eyes were brought there by something else entirely. They seeped, hot and stinging, to her frozen cheeks.
'I love you, Quinn,' Rachel spoke through gritted teeth, forcing the words through her burning throat. It wasn't something that was said, as much as it was transmitted, through the very vibration of her body.
In the end, that was what it had distilled down to. All that had happened, the past, and the present, and the future. Everything that had happened and everything that would… For Rachel, there was one thread through it all, the point on which she turned. On which her life had always pirouetted. It was this one. This connection that had waxed and waned, stretched and contracted through the years. Like a flare in the night sky, she felt as though she were finally being guided home.
Rachel pulled the taller woman towards her, fitting their bodies together. She nuzzled into the warmth of Quinn's neck, breathing in the scent of her, and letting the memory flood over her.
'No matter what happens,' she promised quietly, and she had never meant anything so much as she did in that moment. 'No matter what…'
For they were made to be together. Rachel believed that now as much as she had believed it when they had been seventeen, that being with Quinn Fabray was like vanishing within another world, it was timeless, and overwhelming. Though the innocence was swirled now with cynicism, though they had changed, both of them, so irreversibly, she knew that, for her, it was, as it had always been, Quinn.
'I'm not letting you go again…' she whispered.
Against her she could feel the trembling of the blonde's body, and it took her a moment to realise that the woman was crying, the tears finally tracking down the alabaster cheeks. The realisation fractured something within Rachel. She pulled back, cupping the blonde's face in both hands and pressing soft kisses against the damp skin.
'I'll never let you go again.'
Lima. 2008.
The sun was hot against her skin as she stretched out along the towel. A growth spurt over the recent months had left Brittany feeling long and awkward, suddenly taller than classmates she had been on the same level with the year before. She didn't know how to move with the extra height, walking heavily rather than elegantly. She had taken to slumping her shoulders a little to try to fit in again. It didn't help. She frowned at her long legs in the sunshine, wishing that she could simply go back to how she had been before.
'I don't really like Atticus,' Quinn sighed beside her, scrunching her nose up at the sky. Brittany glanced across at the quiet blonde, pulled away from her own thoughts about being a giant.
'I know I'm meant to like him, but his self-righteous attitude irritates me.'
She placed her copy of To Kill a Mockingbird face down on the grass and rolled over onto her front, looking intently at her friend. When Brittany had first met Quinn she had truly felt that the girl was glowing; soft butterscotch hair and golden eyes that glittered with a million secrets in their depths. In the sunlight, like today, she was reminded of that image; the glowing blonde in the crowd.
'You don't have to like him,' Brittany offered and Quinn shrugged as though she didn't care, squinting her eyes up at the sky. It wasn't Atticus Finch, Brittany suspected, but men in authority that Quinn disliked, although she would never admit it. Quinn never really admitted anything, Brittany had realised through the months of knowing her. She may be popular and sociable, even friendly to people at times, but she was also so closed. Sometimes, Brittany wondered if, without Santana's boisterous influence, Quinn would have been quiet and isolated and serious. She could never get a handle on what the other girl was thinking.
'Let's do the stupid English assignment later,' Quinn suggested, 'the weather is too nice to read that stupid book.'
'Okay,' Brittany smiled.
Of course, Quinn didn't think the book was stupid. Brittany knew that as well. She knew a lot about Quinn Fabray that the other girl didn't give away, just through watching her. The little things. Like how she was reluctant to let anyone inside her house, especially when her parents were at home. Or how her eyes were always drawn to the brunette that Santana hated; the same girl that Santana hated only because she saw that Quinn's eyes were drawn to her. Their relationship was so confusing, and yet so simple; a tug of war. Inseparable and yet opposing. Brittany felt that the rope went through her now, ever since Quinn had invited her to sit with them that first day when Santana had done nothing but scowl. The rope went through her now and, with all these new and unusual feelings, it threatened to tear her apart.
She shaded her eyes from the sun as Quinn propped herself up on her elbows. The pages of her copy of To Kill a Mockingbird were worn and dog-eared. Even if she did claim to hate Atticus Finch, it had not stopped her from reading the book many times over. Brittany could see that too.
'Are you in love with Santana?'
The words came out in a startled rush, whispered on the breeze.
Quinn stilled, her blonde hair falling across the hazel eyes, her lips parted. In all the things that Quinn wouldn't say, Brittany knew that she understood her question. She understood why Brittany wanted to know, understood, somehow, the new and frightening feelings that were starting to grow within her.
She held her breath.
'I've been arguing with Santana since I was five years old,' Quinn said finally, as though that explained everything about their relationship. 'We will never stop arguing.'
The silence that she held was intense, her eyes narrowing at the taller girl. She knew what Brittany was asking her, she had seen the way that the blue-eyed girl would watch her friend, had seen her in turn become shy and happy and everything in between.
'Don't hurt her,' she warned, her voice quiet.
Brittany didn't even blink as she looked up at the other girl.
The sound of a door slamming broke the fragile conversation; Quinn's body stiffening as she shot upright on the grass as though a string through her body had suddenly been pulled taut. Brittany followed her anxious gaze as angry voices drifted out; deep and masculine. She couldn't quite make out the words.
'Let's get out of here.'
It was not a suggestion and Brittany let herself be pulled to her feet, the books and towels left on the grass as the youngest Fabray ushered her out of the garden, through the small gap between the fence and the hedge. Behind them the voices drifted up like plumes of smoke in the summer air. With the dusty ground beneath her feet, Brittany wondered at all that Quinn Fabray would not say, at how strange it was to be young and in love and awaiting a future that would not come fast enough.
Present.
Quinn's back slammed against the wooden door, the sudden impact knocking the air from her lungs just as Rachel's lips met hers again, kissing her demandingly. The iciness of the outside world seemed to melt away with the heat that was flowing between them and she felt herself moan, a guttural sound that tore itself from deep within her.
The singer's lips twitched predatorily before they met her neck, tracing a pulse point that had always sent stabs of electricity through her. She tangled one hand in her hair. Quinn's body jerked forward involuntarily, and she encircled the brunette's waist with her hands, pulling her closer. She had forgotten how well they fit together; puzzle pieces that had always clicked.
Rachel's kisses were bruising, more forceful than Quinn remembered her, and her body shivered beneath the possessive touch. On some level, she knew that Rachel was reclaiming her, that to truly address the disequilibrium between them they probably needed to fuck the hell out of each other. She closed her eyes as she felt Rachel's lips sucking at her pulse, gasping at the sensation in a manner that was very unlike herself. She was unravelling, she could feel it; every last thread of control fraying and snapping about her.
Quinn pushed back against the brunette, sharp teeth nipping down on the soft skin instinctively as she guided them towards the couch. Her frozen fingers tugged at clothing and, missing their intended destination, Rachel stumbled back onto the rug in front of the dying fire that she had built that morning. Quinn caught her in their momentum but not soon enough to keep them both upright, and instead they landed together on the floor.
At the tangle of the impact the spell was broken and Quinn let out a laugh, meeting Rachel's smiling eyes above her.
She caught her breath, glancing at the firelight.
'I've dreamt of this,' she admitted softly, ghosting her fingertips tenderly across the brunette's cheek. Rachel smiled down at her, eyes sparkling.
'I've dreamt of you.'
The fluttering feeling in her chest did not disappear as she reached up and started to slowly unbutton Rachel's shirt. The long dark hair cascaded down over her shoulders, a beautiful mess. Large brown eyes were almost black, fixed as they were on Quinn's face. There was desire there, and possession too, and something else, something indefinable.
Quinn traced her fingers down Rachel's breast bone, parting her shirt and shrugging her out of it. She cursed herself for her hesitance, but the dark shadows that haunted her days and her nights seemed to circle above them like vultures.
'You're sure you want… this?' she pressed, hesitating on the final word, trying to make it more impersonal.
Rachel pushed herself back, her jaw tensing. Tangling her hand in the front of Quinn's top she pulled her up until the surprised blonde was propped up on her elbows, their faces close.
'I want you,' Rachel stated firmly. 'What do I have to do to get that through your thick skull?'
Quinn blinked; reality seeming to crash down upon her like ice water, and Rachel could see the doubt as it flowed over her body. She slapped her fingers lightly against the blonde's cheek, jolting Quinn to look up at her again.
'No matter what happens next,' she repeated quietly; it was a promise, a declaration. But she needed Quinn to believe it, needed to make her realise that she had made her decision and would stick with it.
Leaning forward, Rachel captured the swollen lips once again; gently this time until, swept up in the sensation, she bit down against the blonde. So many nights she had been visited by this apparition, on nights she had spent with boyfriends and lovers… Quinn had never been far from her mind, never far from her touch, haunting her, but here she was, firmer, rougher, sweeter. The sweetest poison.
It took her a moment, but Quinn kissed her back with equal fervour, the dark thoughts evaporating as Rachel's confidence travelled down her body, peeling off her top and pushing her down again onto the rug. She unbuckled the blonde's belt, unzipping her jeans and tugging them down with an intent look crossing her features. As Quinn moved to push herself up again, the brunette practically growled, pinning her hands firmly above her head. In those hazel eyes, Rachel started to recognise the loneliness of the time that had passed, the vulnerability that Quinn fought so hard to hide. Yes, the layers had peeled away, the years had melted. Rachel suddenly felt older, somehow stronger, than before, protectiveness burning in her chest.
'Let me love you,' she whispered against the blonde's lips.
Quinn looked at her searchingly for a moment, uncertain. Then finally, beneath her body, Rachel felt the blonde start to relax, the tension melting from her as she gave the smallest of nods.
She knew that Rachel needed this. Needed to touch her, to feel her… to reconnect on that primal level that words could not reach. But, just as Rachel needed it, Quinn realised that she needed it to; to allow herself to be loved, to be wanted and needed and forgiven, in a way that she could not forgive herself.
'I trust you,' she murmured needlessly, giving herself to the sensations that threatened to overwhelm her; Rachel's lips against her skin; the sharp edges of her teeth, the gentle strength of her that she had never recognised before. Quinn stared into the abyss and allowed herself to fall.
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