A/N: I'm not sure if I like this chapter yet. It turned out differently from what I imagined but I suppose it has its own semblance of charm. Enjoy :)
Twenty-Five
The hustle and bustle inside the mall had Rachel admittedly worried. Her low centre of gravity rarely boded well for her in overly crowded mobs, especially ones desperately shopping for last minute Christmas gifts. With the grandiose holiday a little over two weeks away, the overall atmosphere in Lima's only relatively decent shopping mecca was unquestionably aggressive.
Still, Brittany insisted she come because the blonde had yet to choose between gifting an industrial grade juicer or a vibrator to Quinn for Christmas, as it was apparently (and unsurprisingly) difficult to find a common likeness between the two. Rachel had agreed—despite the irrefutable evidence of her upcoming mental anguish present in that very sentence—because as it turned out it was extremely hard to deny Brittany.
Not that such a thing was at all shocking. Over the course of their friendship, Rachel had never been close to successfully refusing anything Brittany really wanted from her. In all honestly, if Rachel even remotely stopped to dwell on it, she'd wonder why she had ever expected too, as this was the girl that had effectively domesticated Santana Lopez with little (to no) effort at all.
But, that didn't take away from the fact Rachel was at the mall, her hands weighed down by the best juicer money could buy and a festively red dildo—with an equally festively smelling lube—because Brittany still couldn't manage to decide on either one. Rachel had tried her best to talk the blonde into purchasing a very nice cashmere scarf instead but as suspected poor Quinn would probably be opening both of Brittany's (happiness inspired) gifts on December the twenty-fifth.
Suddenly Brittany was stopping mid-skip and grabbing at Rachel's free hand excitedly. "Can we go in there?"
Rachel turned and looked up and into the store Brittany was eagerly pointing at. One of those garishly expensive jewelry stores with impeccability polished glass cases and employees in fashionably tailored dark suits. Her dads bought the Star of David she wore there, a Hanukkah gift from many years ago.
"Of course, Brittany. Are you looking to purchase Quinn something in there that will hopefully see the return of these…" Rachel held up the bags, deliberating on her words for only a moment, "fabulous gifts before the holiday return policy expires?"
Unfortunately, her friend was shaking her head and just as eagerly dragging her in the store's direction seconds later. "No, nothing in here will make Q happy, unless it is from you."
Rachel watched Brittany, bounce from case-to-case in an animated frenzy of limbs. Her blue eyes traced over the expensive trinkets and Rachel found her own attention drawn to them too.
Rings, bracelets, necklaces… she supposed Brittany was right. Every girl loved getting jewelry; Quinn Fabray couldn't possibly be an exception—regarding jewelry at least. Still, the carat of a diamond seemed a little too excessive a gift for a girl that Rachel hadn't even managed to confess an attraction to out loud yet.
It was very much a work in progress but Rachel was at least trying to attempt to reign in her natural affliction for overzealousness when wanting things too much, something Santana took it upon herself to assist in by sending daily texts depicting Rachel's beloved owl sweater with giant pinking shears resting beside it. And after the nightgown incident, Rachel wasn't about to tempt fate, even though she desperately wanted to.
Her eyes continued to gaze at the jewelry though. Everything in the store was quite spectacular and Brittany had unintentionally spurred Rachel's imagination into thinking about such brilliance dazzling while worn by Quinn.
Biting her lip, Rachel reluctantly looked away, finding Brittany leaning over a case a couple feet away. "Is there something specific you're looking for?"
The blonde's head snapped up and she eagerly nodded. "Lord Tubbington told me San bought me a necklace with my name on it for Christmas and I wanted to get her one with mine so we can trade and pretend to be each other like the Olsen twins."
"Oh that's…" Rachel was beginning to suspect she'd always be paused at an impasse awaiting the right words when faced with Brittany, "quite endearing. I never would've suspected that Santana would be capable of such romance but it has become rather apparent that my initial sociopathic diagnosis appears to be somewhat flawed."
Brittany was unfortunately too distracted—by a pendant—to offer any insight in her failed prognosis and it seemed Rachel wasn't the only one that realized as such. An employee—an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair and startlingly dark eyes—quickly zeroed in on their location, standing in front of them both in seconds with a warm smile.
"I see something has caught your eye, yes?" he asked, looking between them curiously.
Brittany's gaze snapped up to his and she started rapidly nodding before glancing down again. "I like this one but it says Veronica. San would get confused just like Lord Tubbington did when I named all his kitty babies after him."
Rachel swallowed down the urge to giggle—because she totally understood Lord Tubbington's angry plight a little better now—and looked over at Brittany.
"I believe such a thing is easy to rectify," she paused, smiling at her blonde friend before turning to the man, currently looking at them just as confused as Rachel usually was. "Is it possible to purchase this piece with a custom name?"
He blinked—his nametag identified him as Charles in a slightly more than elaborate font—and after a beat he seemed to fall back into the art of a salesman rather seamlessly.
"Yes, yes, of course. This particular piece is actually crafted by a private maker, who just recently agreed to allow us to commercially broker his work." Charles' obvious enthusiasm was something Brittany effortlessly adopted as she impatiently bounced on the balls of her feet while they listened. "With the same design as the one on display, we'd be able to have it ready for pick up within a week's time."
Brittany looked up at him with a Cheshire grin, as her excitement was simply impossible to contain any longer. "So I'll be able to get one that says Santana?"
"Absolutely," Charles nodded. "Just let me get an order form and we can fill in the blanks."
He walked into the back room and Brittany spent her time gazing at her chosen item with faraway eyes. It was brilliantly crafted. Beautifully scripted—as if written fast and furiously with almost delicate care—each letter was a glossy gold, outlined in silver with just an inch of black onyx separating the two precious metals from meeting in the middle. She supposed that Brittany would be the only person capable of finding something so inexplicably reminiscent of Santana in the name of switching identities like iconic child star twins.
Rachel shook her head. "I expect Santana will love your gift, Brittany."
Said girl looked up with another large smile. "I know. She said she'd like it and then I made her promise to be surprised when she opened it on Christmas morning."
This time Rachel did giggle because just the thought of an over-exaggerated look of shock on Santana Lopez's usually violent features was enough to tip her scales of restraint.
"That sounds lovely," exclaimed Rachel, her laughter finally tailing off. "Maybe you could come and model the necklaces on Christmas day for my dads and I. I'm sure there will be enough baked goods to keep Santana well placated."
Brittany eagerly nodded. "Yes! I can give you your gift then! It's a—"
"How about we keep it a secret and surprise each other then?" offered Rachel, suitably charmed by her friend's childlike exuberance.
Brittany seemed to take her suggestion in to consideration for only a moment before she sighed, "Okay. I just always know what I get before I open it so I want everybody to know too."
Rachel smiled. "I fear us mere mortals are not as stellar detectives as you appear to be and have learned to enjoy the art of surprise."
Brittany seemed oddly starry eyed at her comment and Rachel didn't understand until, "I'm not a mermaid. I already tried to grow a tail in my pool but I just got really wet. Maybe I have to try in the ocean."
The leap of logic had Rachel reeling but for only a second. What was worse was that a young Rachel Berry had tried to accomplish the same feat as well—one day after viewing the Disney mermaid classic on one of her family's many movie nights—and her daddy was of course around to get the whole embarrassing ordeal on videotape.
"Well, we'll have to visit the ocean one day to figure out if such a thing has any merit. I'm sure Santana would be thrilled to join us."
Brittany shook her head. "No, she's afraid of sharks."
Rachel found herself once again battening down her verbal hatches—sealing her mouth with a just audible pop—to stop her giggles once again. It was proving difficult, her adnominal muscles were angrily protesting at the strain.
"Oh," was what Rachel was finally able to get out. "That's unfortunate."
"It's okay," Brittany shrugged, seemingly nonplused as she continued to explain, "San told me that you weren't as horrible as she thought when we talked about her parents yesterday so I think she'd let me go with you."
Rachel's jaw pretty much dropped, effectively ruining her anti-giggle seal, not that she needed it anymore because Santana Lopez had actually taken her advice. But then, the Latina had technically followed her into the trenches before—the song, blackmailing Quinn—and the realization had Rachel beaming a bright grin.
It was tangible proof of their friendship. Maybe Rachel didn't just have to settle for an unacknowledged familiar connection with the brunette because Santana certainly couldn't dispute cold hard facts.
"That's marvelous!" Rachel cried—her hands and arms waving in a flurry of exhilaration—but then she remembered the circumstances. "I apologize. I meant to ask how the conversation went. She's not planning on stealing away to get drunk again in the near future, is she?"
"No," Brittany sighed, more in relief than any actual distress thankfully. "She said she was going to talk to her parents and she was sad because she didn't want me to think she was leaving me again. I said that it was okay because I wouldn't think that."
Rachel nodded. "I'm glad to hear that such a crisis was averted so to speak."
Brittany bit her lip before abruptly launching herself into Rachel's arms at speeds that just allowed the tiny Diva to get her arms positioned for a hug.
Pulling back, the blonde smiled. "Thanks for talking to her for me. She told me what she said about Q and don't listen, okay? I know Q will choose you. She just doesn't know it yet."
Rachel found herself nodding, too flabbergasted for much else and when Brittany fully separated from her—because Charles had taken that moment to return—poor Rachel was left staring at them as they finished filling out order forms.
Because it just didn't seem plausible.
Santana had made so much sense—even while in a drunken haze—because when it came down to it, Rachel didn't know why anybody—much less Quinn Fabray—would choose her. Santana choosing Brittany was different because who wouldn't choose Brittany: she was wonderful.
But she was just Rachel Berry and it had become exponentially apparent that her voice was all she had to offer. And after Finn had freely sought her out for just that, Rachel knew it would never be enough.
Thankfully, Brittany took it upon herself to pull Rachel out of the store—almost identically to how she pulled her in—and the tug jostled her out of her thoughts.
She looked up at Brittany—as the girl skipped along next to her—and Rachel couldn't help but ask, "How do you know?"
Somewhat reminiscent, actually entirely the same, as her question to Santana and Brittany just stopped in the middle of the mall—seemingly once again oblivious to the dirty looks from the disgruntled mob following behind them—and smiled.
"Q likes teddy bears."
Rachel's mouth unattractively open and closed multiple times before she got enough of a handle to speak. "Brittany what—"
"She has a whole collection of them," Brittany was looking at her like she assumed that answered all of Rachel's questions and when the blonde realized that it didn't—Rachel's face was still undeniably bewildered—she frowned, "behind her crowns that San says Q got after she jeepers creepered a bus full of beauty queens."
"Oh that's…" Rachel was still undoubtedly confused but Brittany was already smiling and continuing to pull her along so the tiny Diva just decided to give up. "Brittany, do you happen to want to make a stop at Build-a-Bear?"
The blonde came to a dead stop again and her face morphed into what one would reason a maniacal expression looked like on a cheerful face.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" she screeched and then there was a lot of jumping.
Lots and lots of jumping and Rachel was literally dragged through the mall after that.
She really hoped her shoulder wasn't dislocated.
Rachel found peace in humming along—as Madonna explained exactly what comprised a material girl—because an upbeat song was always required during an impromptu gift-wrapping session. High energy was an essential part in keeping her wits about her through the complicated art of present decoration. One tired blink of the eye and her special blue snowflake paper could be matched with the wrong forest green bow—such a thing was just not acceptable.
Headphones in, Rachel was diligently perfecting the ribbon curl on her very last gift, when she spotted her auntie's shaggy bear claw slippers just step into her eye line. Looking up from her spot perched on the floor—a cop circle of brightly coloured gift-wrap surrounding her—Rachel quickly pulled on the wire of her ear buds until they tumbled to her lap.
"Auntie!" she exclaimed, as the woman shuffled further into the room. "I thought you'd be asleep, trying to forget the trouncing I gave you in Go Fish tonight."
Rachel watched the older woman perch herself on the side of her bed and absently bounced up to settle in beside her.
"I was dear," her auntie laughed, her curls bouncing freely with every amused shake of her head, "but then I felt the need to come see you."
Rachel's brow cutely furrowed. "But why? If you're after a rematch I…" Hushed angry whispering suddenly started permeating through her walls and the tiny brunette sighed. "Oh."
Her auntie was quick to pull her into a hug the moment Rachel's tiny shoulders seemed to deflate. "How long has this been going on, sweetie? My brother seemed to have left this part out of our daily phone conversations."
"A few months," mumbled Rachel, reveling in the warmth surrounding her by burrowing further into the familiar embrace. "Since Daddy started his new job. Dad doesn't like it very much."
The woman sighed, squeezing Rachel gently, as she started slowly rocking them back and forth. "Why is that, baby?"
The tiny Diva pulled away from the embrace, suddenly feeling guilty for betraying her fathers. "I don't know."
Rachel's back hunched as she stared at her clasped hands resting in her lap and she heard her auntie sigh. "Rachie, I think you should talk about it. I feel like you haven't had the chance to express yourself and we all know how much you need that."
"They…" Rachel bit her lip, deliberating until she just shook her head and looked up into her auntie's kind eyes. "They think I don't know but I do. I hear them and I feel so exceedingly helpless to do anything but watch them crumble because they are both so stubborn."
Her auntie nodded. "What else?"
Rachel took a breath, seemingly preparing herself as her auntie smiled to encourage her. "Daddy likes his job because he has more responsibility. He feels like he's helping more people but the longer hours have him away from home a lot more than he used to be. Dad doesn't want him to be away, something I undoubtedly understand because I don't want that either, but since becoming friends with Brittany…and to an extent Quinn, I've realized that sometimes when you care for somebody there are instances where that concern trumps your reluctance because it is in their best interest. You put their needs before your own… why can't Dad and Daddy do that too?"
Her auntie quickly pulled her into another hug, one that Rachel had no intentions of breaking free from this time around. "I don't know, Rachie but maybe you should tell them what you just told me."
"Do you think we can do it together?" Rachel asked softly and her auntie just pulled her closer.
Strong hands rhythmically ran through her hair and Rachel found herself blinking to keep her eyes open. "I thought you'd never ask, baby."
"Thanks, Auntie," Rachel said softly, somehow already feeling exponentially better.
Rachel was a verse away from basking in the sounds of applause—beneath the bright lights, the worn wood of the Broadway stage finally under the soles of her shoes—because her performance of Don't Cry For Me Argentina had (obviously) been flawless, when a distant ringing heinously shattered the moment.
It got louder and louder until Rachel was groaning and slapping her hand towards her nightstand with all the coordination her sleep-addled brain allowed. Something—her dream journal—fell to the floor with a distinct thump and then finally her fingertips grazed her bedazzled phone case.
Answering it required a more involved effort that Rachel celebrated with a gruff, "Hello, you've reached, Rachel Berry. If this is you Jacob, come on over. I'll be happy to blitz your anatomy's most virile part in my father's new Cuisinart blender."
"Ber—" a distinctly feminine voice—too feminine to be another one of Jacob's rather abysmal attempts to disguise his voice—coughed in an attempt to clear their throat. "Rachel?"
Said girl froze and quickly flipped onto her back, eyes wide open and staring up into darkness. "Quinn, I wasn't expecting… are you all right? There isn't anything wrong with the baby, is there? I knew I should've insisted on a doctor's visit when you expressed illness—"
"Everything's fine, Rachel," Quinn interrupted, her tone clipped with underlying impatience.
Rachel sighed, a relieved smile gracing her face because honestly her vivid imagination liked to torture her, especially in the early hours of the morning before her daily breakfast smoothie. Though—let it be known—Rachel was dutifully prepared to coach Quinn through labor over the phone if the situation so required it.
"Oh, well, that's wonderful…" Rachel squirmed, sheets rustling as she waited for Quinn to fill the silence but the blonde didn't seem to be in any hurry, something that the tiny Diva felt obligated to rectify. "May I inquire as to why you're calling at…" she quickly glanced at the clock, "three in the morning?"
The blonde mumbled something entirely too low to hear and poor Rachel pressed the phone harder to her ear in hopes of picking up just about anything. "I…do you think…"
Quinn seemed almost shy—or at least embarrassed—but over the phone Rachel couldn't be too sure. The girl's soft, shallow breathing through the speaker—as the blonde appeared to be in the midst of collecting her thoughts—was especially torturous. Rachel carefully pushed her covers down to her stomach, the cool air against her flushed skin felt amazingly good. The pleasing feeling had her stretching with a barely discernible moan, back arching until she fell back on her bed.
Quinn's breathing audibly picked up and Rachel bit her lip, suddenly feeling guilty. "Do I think what, Quinn?"
"Do you think you can pick me up, like now?" the blonde finally asked, the sounds of a worn mattress creaking under the blonde's weight seemed deafening over the phone while Quinn waited on her answer.
Still, Rachel wasn't quite sure what the girl was asking. "Quinn, I'm not sure I—"
"Puck's Jewish," interrupted Quinn and the tiny brunette frowned.
"I'm well aware of that…" she said slowly because obviously it wasn't just her, the blonde wouldn't be making any sense to anybody, right? "I apologize, Quinn but you're going to have to be more specific. What does that—"
Quinn sighed—a clear sign that she was once again annoyed—and Rachel silently berated herself for being the cause until the pregnant girl mumbled, "The baby likes bacon, okay?"
Rachel tried her best to stifle her urge to giggle, the situation was undoubtedly amusing and Quinn's petulance was extremely appealing to the obviously smitten Diva.
Her heart beat a little faster and she pushed her blanket down a little further. There was no question in Rachel's mind now: she was in love with Quinn Fabray. The personality disconnect that previously had Rachel wadding in uncertain waters—tempestuous head cheerio and charming MySpace commenter—had finally managed to mend in the middle.
"Twenty minutes should give us both ample time to prepare, yes?" Rachel was already up wandering around in the dark in search of somewhat presentable clothes. "Will that suffice?"
A beat and then a shyly mumbled 'yes' just managed to reach her ears.
Rachel smiled.
She imagined Lithgow was shaking his head at her lovesick grin but she didn't give him any mind, as she quickly pulled a sweater over her head. Rachel was out the door moments later, after a brief struggle with the laces of her shoes.
Quinn was waiting out front of Puck's house bundled up in a puffy black jacket; her cheeks just tinged pink. From embarrassment or being cold, Rachel wasn't too sure, but she turned up the heat just in case.
They drove in silence. Just a (Rachel Berry) crafted soundtrack of only the best Celine Dion Christmas hits lowly crooned away in the background, as her lovely Francophone idol's arrangement of Feliz Navidad had Rachel's stomach churning at the very thought of it.
Rachel tapped along absently on the steering wheel and Quinn fiddled with the ends of her jacket until the blonde's head sporadically snapped towards her.
"You didn't have to…" the blonde trailed off, seemingly thinking better of what she was saying half way through and quickly trying again, "I just couldn't get Puck up and—"
"Thanks isn't necessary, Quinn," Rachel briefly chanced a glance the girl's way before her eyes skittered back to the road, "and neither is an explanation. I'm happy you thought of me when looking for somebody to call."
Her peripherals caught Quinn glancing away—almost in a sheepish manner—and tiny brunette's heart skipped a beat. By God, Quinn was too cute for words and the thought had Rachel smiling.
"Rachel, stop there," Quinn's voice was almost frantic, like the thought of the fast food chain passing them by would see the world come to an end.
She couldn't help but giggle, something Quinn petulantly rolled her eyes at while grumpily mumbling hollow threats underneath her breath. The blonde only seemed to be placated when an employee at Sonic was asking them for they're order through a brightly painted speaker box.
Quinn proceeded to hold out a list, well more specifically a Sonic menu with certain items readily circled in glittery green gel pen. Rachel looked at Quinn, lip firmly between her teeth, as her whole body shook to keep her boisterous laughs in.
"You can't be…"
The answering glare was enough for Rachel to quickly turn to the speaker and reel off the items on Quinn's—rather large—list. She ordered herself a limeade and hoped it would tide her over until Quinn was finished her bounty full of sizzling flesh.
They sat in the car—idle in the eerily empty parking lot—and Rachel cracked a window because the blonde's rather ravenous moans very quickly flushed her cheeks. The putrid smell of well over five pounds of meat and the once again horrifying display of Quinn in the heat of rabid ingestion was enough to have Rachel roll the window down just a smidge more.
She sipped from her limeade and interchangeably hummed along with Celine until finally Quinn was happily sighing from beside her, slowly rubbing her stomach with a satisfied smirk. Rachel chanced a look up at her favourite pair of eyes, smiling softly at the almost contented tinge to their hazel hue. The blonde looked away, bashfully glancing down at the empty paper bag in her hands.
"Thanks, Rachel," she whispered.
Said girl opened her mouth to comment but it just as quickly fell shut. Rachel. Quinn had called her Rachel. It was then that the tiny brunette realized—their earlier phone conversation flittering through her mind's eye—that the blonde been calling her by name all along.
Rachel's hands started to fiddle in her lap and she slowly looked up with a blinding grin. "You've been calling me, Rachel."
"I…" Quinn sighed, ripping at the paper bag with a face pinched in frustration, "it seemed only fair."
The tiny Diva frowned briefly at the softly spoken words—because she couldn't help but desperately want more than that—but she managed to quickly rearrange her face into something more presentable in little to no time at all.
"Oh, okay. I suppose that is as good a reason as any, since—"
"No, it's not!" cried Quinn, shreds of paper flying across the blonde's lap as she threw up her hands. "I should be apologizing to you. You've done so much for me, you deserve more than that. Why don't you think that?"
Rachel sighed, her limeade quickly finding its way to the nearest cup holder. "Quinn, I don't want to force you into giving more than you're ready to offer. I suppose I believe that it will come when you're—"
"But I am! I want to…" Quinn trailed off, breathing heavily beside her, as she sullenly looked out the window.
Her profile was one of somebody that appeared utterly defeated and Rachel's heart turned cold in her chest. She couldn't just sit by and she was reaching for Quinn's hand before her brain even processed it. The paper bag was soon pried away—and tossed heedlessly into the back seat—and Rachel was helplessly gripping the blonde's hand.
"What do you want, Quinn?" she whispered, searching for any sign Quinn was willing to give.
And hazel eyes were quickly upon hers, swirling with an almost palpable darkness that Rachel struggled desperately to understand. Their eyes seemed only inches away from one another—though intellectually Rachel knew it was a lot more than that—both stuck staring and neither wanting to look away.
But then Quinn visibly softened. Rachel didn't dare move as the blonde inched closer, her hand slowly making its way to Rachel's cheek. The tiny brunette's eyes involuntarily shut, allowing Quinn's fingertips cart blanche to ghost over the soft skin of her face.
Rachel's heart was pounding, all the blood was rushing to her head and Quinn was being so gentle, even when the blonde's thumbs brushed against the bridge of her nose. Rachel's mouth unconsciously opened—her breathing pretty much being relegated to sporadic and unattractive gushes of air—because my Barbra this was heavenly.
And then Quinn was touching her lips, the pads of her fingers were so soft and Rachel's eyes fluttered open just in time to take in the almost reverent twinkle in hazel eyes. Unfortunately, the movement saw Quinn's hand fall to her side and the blonde glanced up, their eyes connecting once again.
Then just as suddenly Quinn's lips were tentatively touching Rachel's and the tiny brunette wasn't sure what to do when all she could hear was Quinn's voice whispering, "I…I want to kiss you."