The Silence of Silence
Quinn laid on her side in bed, and her only recognition of time passing was the way the shadows on the wall in front of her face were changing with the setting sun. Soon, it would be dark entirely.
And still, she hadn't answered a single text or missed phone call.
Every blink seemed slow and deliberate, even though Quinn wasn't really thinking about anything at all. It was a defense mechanism of sorts that Santana had taught her back in their senior year of high school when things had been particularly rough between Quinn and her father; the clearing of her mind had seemed so difficult at first, but Santana had been a diligent teacher.
Now, however, Quinn wasn't sure if Santana had done her a favor or just taught her a particularly efficient yet simultaneously unproductive method of coping – called not coping.
Her phone had last buzzed menacingly at her approximately one hour and thirty-six minutes before (Quinn had noted the time). With a sigh, she rolled over onto her back away from the clock and her cell phone – both of which seemed to be glaring at her, if animate objects could do such a thing.
"What are you doing, Quinn?" she asked herself, absolutely not expecting the answer to be forthcoming – especially not from herself, a self who was pathetically incapable of answering such simple questions at the moment.
Giving her body another push, Quinn continued to roll the rest of the way off of her bed, barely managing to catch herself on her feet on the floor – now effectively on the opposite side of the room from her phone, the device perpetuating her current mental torture.
She walked over to her desk, her sock-covered feet padding softly on the carpet as she approached her destination. Quinn willed her hands not to shake as she opened her laptop, waking it from its slumber to carry out the task she had set before herself.
It was a Thursday, and she and Caleb made it a habit of making themselves available for video chats on Friday afternoons; but Quinn hoped that her bad luck would shift to the good side of things and that she'd find him online.
As Quinn double-clicked the Skype icon in the bottom corner of her screen, she found herself holding her breath. And her fists, they were clenched on top of her thighs. "Breathe," she managed to get out past her tightly locked jaw. Caleb would know in a heartbeat – even over the distance between them that the internet miraculously managed to shorten – that something was wrong if she kept this up.
And she was going to have to relax because, as Fate would have it, Caleb was indeed signed in on this Thursday evening.
Taking a deep breath, Quinn clicked on the button to call her brother and found herself simultaneously hoping that he would and wouldn't answer.
The ringing tone in the air was the only sound in the otherwise still silence of Quinn's room. Her eyes remained steadfastly fixated on her brother's icon until, suddenly, his face filled her screen instead.
"Quinn!" he exclaimed, waving at his big sister via their internet connection.
"Hi, Caleb," Quinn signed and spoke. She was glad that he couldn't hear the way her voice had pitifully cracked on his name.
I am so glad you called, Caleb signed, his movements quick. He was obviously excited – about what, Quinn wasn't certain. I have big news for you!
I have news as well, little brother, Quinn replied, this time choosing not to speak aloud, only to sign. But please, tell me your news first.
And Caleb hardly needed Quinn's prompting at all to proclaim, Tina and I are getting married! And, upon this announcement, Quinn's breath caught for multiple reasons. First and foremost, it hit her as unexpectedly as her heart attack that her little brother was no longer really very little at all. Then, as Caleb continued gesturing emphatically in rushed, fragmented sentences about how his boss, Sue, had helped him set up the art gallery and how his proposal had been "grossly romantic", Quinn knew that now was not the time for her to share her own revelation.
Caleb, Quinn signed when Caleb finally settled with his hands flat on the desk in front of him, as if to stop himself from saying more and dominating completely the conversation, I am so happy for you. Congratulations.
The emotions playing out on her face and the tears welling up in her eyes, she hoped, suggested only evidence of her great love for her brother and the steps he would soon be taking with his girlfriend – fiancée, Quinn mentally corrected herself – and not that she was falling apart at the seams.
Don't cry, Quinn, Caleb signed, a soft, misled-but-understanding smile on his face. This is a really exciting time. Tina and I are very happy.
Quinn nodded, ducking her head from the screen momentarily before looking back into her brother's eyes and signing, I would really like to hug you right now.
Caleb tilted his head and smiled the sweetest of smiles – a rare thing that Russell had passed onto his children, though he hardly used his own. Come visit Tina and me. I will show you around D.C., and you will finally get to see where I work and what I do. Something tells me you will really like Sue, even though she tends to be a hard ass.
Chuckling, a real smile touching her lips at the idea of getting away and visiting her brother, Quinn nodded again. I would really love that. Maybe I can visit you in a couple of weeks? Sometime before graduation, she added, already reformulating how she would tell Caleb about Rachel – this time, in person.
And besides, it wasn't like the thing between herself and Rachel was really defined, even at this point, Quinn sadly reasoned with herself. Love was like a stealthy enigma that had appeared so slowly – yet abruptly – in her life that, if it had been a venomous snake, Quinn probably would've been dead and buried. And even now, with Patrick happening upon her and Rachel in her classroom, Quinn's thoughts about the situation in its entirety were being thrown to the wolves, despite the confidence she had been attempting to build upon over the past several months.
Quinn fought the urge to roll her eyes at herself and the overuse of puns in her thoughts, and instead focused back on her brother's face.
Absolutely, Caleb replied, sighing wistfully as he stared at Quinn on his screen, resting his elbows on his desk with his chin in his palms.
You are engaged, baby brother, Quinn signed, reaching to wipe away the tears from her cheeks quickly before smiling brightly at the computer screen, truly proud of Caleb and the loving young man he had become. I cannot wait to come see you.
They spent a few more minutes talking, finalizing plans for Quinn's visit, and were about to disconnect when Caleb exclaimed, "Oh!" and proceeded to ask, I am so rude. You had news too! What did you want to tell me, Quinn?
With a soft smile on her lips, Quinn shook her head. "We'll leave that for another time."
You know I am always here for you, Quinn, Caleb responded, speaking Quinn's name aloud.
Glancing down briefly at her lap, Quinn chuckled slightly before flicking her eyes back to her webcam and signing, It is one of my few comforts in life. How could I forget?
They said their goodbyes, Quinn bought her plane ticket to the capital for the weekend after prom, and then she closed her laptop with a striking note of finality. Her eyes shifted back over to her phone on the far side of the room as if she was sizing up an adversary of great proportions.
Then Quinn stood, walked over to it, picked it up, and read every text that Rachel had left for her before typing out her own reply.
Because fear was no reason to shut out one of the people in the word whom Quinn cared for the most. It was a lesson, really, that she had learned from Rachel a long time ago.
Patrick put his father's classy car into park upon arrival at Rachel's house. He immediately reached up, smoothing the palms of his hands along the lapels of his rented tuxedo. It was "simply classic", as per Rachel's detailed description and request, something Patrick didn't entirely understand, but something he certainly wasn't going to question.
Not when he was going to have Rachel Berry on his arm for an entire evening.
Stepping out of the car onto the sidewalk, his shiny black dress shoes practically sparkled in the pink and orange rays of the sun as it shifted across the sky and towards the horizon. Patrick closed the door behind him and turned, making his way up the sidewalk to the house.
But before he could even get close enough to ring the doorbell, the front door was flung wide, and Rachel's mom was gesturing him inside with a huge smile on her face and a camera clutched in one hand.
"Come in, come in," Shelby said excitedly as she gestured for Rachel's date – Rachel's date!, she thought giddily – to step inside the house.
Ms. Corcoran was babbling a mile a minute, and Patrick literally had not a clue as to what she was saying. But her overflowing, positive energy was contagious, so he just smiled and nodded and walked inside the house as if this was any other day.
When really, it wasn't like any other day ever. Because Rachel had just appeared at the top of the stairs.
And Patrick knew Rachel was taken. He knew Rachel wasn't his, even if it was supposed to appear as such for one magical evening. He knew that even if his fingertips were to touch the tantalizingly smooth skin of her arm or her shoulder or her back that it wasn't his by any means of his imagination – and an active imagination he definitely possessed.
Patrick knew that Rachel belonged to another, but as she descended the stairs in front of him, he understood the clichés about angels singing hallelujah choruses even though he had no real concept of what that could possibly sound like.
Rachel's hair was elegantly twisted up into a beautiful arrangement of curls on top of her head, and her long bangs were swept back to one side. Patrick had been prodding for details about her dress, but Rachel had remained stoically silent about the matter; but as she lifted it gently at the thigh so as to not step on the hem with the killer heels that Patrick saw peeking out from underneath, he suddenly understood why she had requested he wear a tux that was "simply classic".
Patrick was no expert when it came to fashion. But he was something of a classic film buff – there was always something beautiful to him about the way people moved onscreen and how he hardly even needed the subtitles to understand what was going on because of the rich facial and body expressions – and everything about Rachel was screaming old Hollywood glamour to Patrick. Her makeup was simple yet strikingly beautiful and possessed a subtle homage to Holly Golightly that Patrick couldn't have missed if he'd wanted to. The deep, impenetrable black of her dress made Patrick feel like he was looking up into the moving frames of a black and white film, like he became in that instant Rick Blaine and Rachel was his Ilsa Lund and that, any moment now, she'd be standing a hair's breadth from him whispering, "Kiss me as if it were the last time," and of course Patrick would do anything she'd ask of him (and he knew he wasn't getting the girl in the end, so it seemed fitting).
It took everything in him to keep from dropping his jaw to the floor.
Upon reaching the bottom step in the foyer, Rachel spun around in an almost silly fashion, and Patrick wanted – more than a little – to kiss away the self-conscious look on her face. But a quick reminder to himself that he had missed his chance was enough to settle him firmly back in his designated role as friend and prom date, nothing more but also nothing less. And that was a small victory in his favor, he knew.
"Hi Patrick," Rachel said, her hands moving almost shyly at the same time.
Patrick's eyes only momentarily left Rachel's to glance down at her right hand as she spelled out his name. Good evening, Rachel, he signed in return before dropping into a shallow bow, more of a polite incline of his head than anything, really. It made Rachel smile, and that made Patrick feel like even more of a movie star.
"Oh!" Shelby exclaimed suddenly, jumping up from where she had been anxiously sitting just beyond the foyer at the dining room table. Rachel turned to her quickly, and Patrick's gaze followed. "I've forgotten the empty memory card!" And then she was rushing between Patrick and Rachel in a frenzy, leaving behind something of a tepid calm in her wake.
I apologize for her, Rachel signed, stepping a bit closer, and Patrick was quick to reassure Rachel that there was absolutely nothing to apologize for. She is just so excited, Rachel continued, biting at the inside of her cheek, it has been an absolute madhouse here all day. I really cannot wait to get out of here... Rachel's signing trailed off as Shelby rushed back into their vicinity, triumphant smile on her face as she held the camera aloft like a trophy. But I think we will be subjected to picture taking first.
The look on Rachel's face was still apologetic, and Patrick didn't really have adequate words to express exactly how much he really didn't mind having this night documented. No worries, I have no problem humoring your mom with some pictures before we leave. His own grin and understanding words were rewarded with a beaming smile from Rachel, and he couldn't have possibly been happier when she stepped closer to him, threading her hand through his arm. Shelby immediately began snapping pictures and babbling on and on about what, Patrick could only guess; likely it was the beauty of her daughter and how proud Shelby was of her and how this was the kind of night every kid deserved to experience.
Or something. On any other day, it would have felt cheesy to the nth degree to Patrick, but he found himself enjoying it immensely.
Patrick felt Rachel speaking out loud next to him, so he turned to her and watched her lips, easily enough realizing that she was implying to Shelby that she and Patrick would have to be let go eventually but ideally soon in order to get to their dinner reservation on time. Patrick turned to Shelby who seemed to have inextricably remembered her manners and was signing to him as they all made their way to the front door.
"Patrick," Shelby said, speaking but also signing at what Patrick recognized as a fairly rudimentary skill level, but one that he appreciated greatly nonetheless, "Take care of my daughter, and I fully expect to see you two home no later than half past midnight, understood?" Patrick nodded seriously, though he had to fight off his own laugh at the situation when he caught Rachel covering her lips to stifle her own giggle.
They were almost to the car when Shelby added, "And while I can't say that I know every cop in town, I do know your parents!"
And that was definitely enough to keep Patrick from laughing as they bid their final goodbyes.
Dinner at Breadstix – one of their town's only even relatively high class restaurants – had been short, sweet, and uneventful. Rachel kind of really hated the place, but Patrick hadn't known that, so there was nothing to be said for the half of a mediocre vegan meatball she had nobly suffered through the eating of.
But dinner was done, and it was time for them to arrive fashionably late – otherwise known as on time – for one of the biggest events of their high school lives.
Though the night was only just beginning, Rachel wasn't sure that anything could possibly land near the pinnacle of receiving admittance into Juilliard. But she was approaching it with an open mind, of course, and she absolutely couldn't wait until ten o'clock when Quinn would be arriving as a faculty chaperone. The mere thought of Quinn seeing her in just a couple of hours was enough to make her drop the visor and check her makeup and hair in the mirror; her appearance was still flawless, and she sat back in the seat with a pleased tilt to her lips.
When they got closer to the school, Patrick pointed through the windshield of the car, and Rachel quickly spotted the lights. They looked questioningly at each other in wonderment, and as they pulled into the parking lot – where several different teachers were acting as valets – they exchanged smiles as they realized that the bright spotlights they'd seen from afar had actually been heralding their arrival to Haverbrook. They may have been having prom in their gymnasium, but Rachel knew that their school went all out on the event annually, hiring a company from Cleveland specifically tailored to making any venue memorable for their Deaf clientele.
And memorable, Rachel realized as she stepped onto the rolled out red carpet and made her way inside on Patrick's arm, it certainly was going to be.
Producing two tickets, Patrick handed them to a smiling Mr. Rumba who had obviously been assigned to keep interlopers out. He smiled, told them to have a great time, and ushered them inside.
The lighting was subtle yet gorgeous at first as they made their way under the richly decorated terrace in front of the wide open double doors, elegantly disguised to look absolutely nothing like a typical high school. A path was cut from the school's entrance near the out-of-sight administrative offices straight to the gym's entrance which had also been creatively decorated in white and silver and black and midnight blue with subtle hints of red throughout. And while Patrick had earlier thought of Rachel as very Hollywood, she was now thinking the same thing about the transformation that had taken place over the past couple of days to their school.
Before they even stepped into the gym, Rachel could feel the bass pounding beneath her feet. The song playing was something that she vaguely recognized as being a top forty hit from the recent charts; but the music wasn't meant to be heard, it was meant to be felt. Rachel's eyes quickly scanned the room and found the dance floor where several people were already moving to the beat, and she realized that the smile on her face really was not going anywhere – not tonight, at least.
The bleachers had been pushed back, folded up, and draped with numerous textiles befitting the color scheme of the evening. As Patrick and Rachel walked by, Rachel reached her fingers out to trail along the fabrics and was amazed to feel that they were comprised of many different textures – it was a veritable feast for the senses as her touch picked up the differences and her eyes took in all of the colors and the sheer transformation of the gym, and then her nose picked up the delicious smells of the refreshment area. The lights, the colors, the chocolate and punch fountains and hors d'oeuvres and just everything had Rachel's breath catching in her throat.
Patrick was quick to fill a small cup of punch for each of them before leading them to a table across the room where several of their fellow senior choir members were seated. Small chat ensued as Rachel timidly sipped at the punch – which she quickly ascertained was not spiked. Rachel watched as her – yes – friends conversed in ASL around her, thankful for the mode of speech since the music was quite loud, though the bass tones were the primary frequency coming through the speakers that were set up on all sides of the dance floor. Before much time at all had passed, Patrick was leaning over Rachel's shoulder and subtly whispering in her ear, "Wanna dance?"
Rachel practically hopped up out of her seat, her hand in Patrick's as they made their way to the dance floor. Several of the lowerclassmen greeted them with smiles and waves as they moved over for the seniors – a station of understood power that Rachel had miraculously never quite realized she was a part of until just then – and they began dancing. For the most part, their moves were goofy, but Rachel had taken dance lessons for years in her youth, so she certainly knew how to move her body – and she was more than pleasantly surprised to find that, despite Patrick's lack of hearing ability, his hips were moving very well to the thump of the bass in his chest. It took them a couple of songs to really get into the groove, but Rachel could tell that they were fitting well together before long.
But there was another person Rachel knew she fit even better with, whose body fit closer more easily and whose movements would've matched Rachel's in a heartbeat instead of three song lengths. It was a shame, Rachel thought, that she and Quinn wouldn't be dancing together that night.
And it wasn't that Quinn was ever far from Rachel's thoughts, but the sudden shift of Rachel's imagination to the mental image of Quinn's arms wrapped around her as they danced to the pulsating beat was enough to have her head up and looking around, the dance floor quite forgotten for the moment.
"Rachel?" Patrick questioned, his own movements stilling as he followed Rachel just past one of the tall speakers.
After a hasty scan of the room, Rachel turned back to her date. Sorry, she signed, I was just looking for... Her movements trailed off, unsure as to how easily Patrick would accept her talk of Quinn outside of a strictly academic setting.
Patrick surprised Rachel a bit by nodding and asking, Is she here yet?
Not yet, Rachel responded, reaching down to Patrick's wrist and angling it so she could see the face of his watch. It was a couple of minutes past ten o'clock, and Quinn should be there at any minute.
With another look around the gymnasium, Rachel let her eyes linger on each of the half dozen or so teachers stationed at various points around the gym. Spotting a scene unfolding across the room, Rachel laughed and pointed towards the punch fountain where one of the sophomores was attempting to pour some kind of liquor into the base. But he had been foiled by the sharp eyes of Mr. Rumba. As one song ended and another began, Rachel heard Mr. Rumba's shout of, "I may be Deaf in one ear – scarlet fever! – but I'm certainly not blind!"
"Another dance?" Patrick half-shouted from next to Rachel after they finished laughing at the attempt on the punch's integrity.
Rachel was turning to agree and head back towards the dance floor when movement near the entrance caught her attention. No one was allowed in after a certain time, so it had to be–
"Wow," Rachel gasped, the word lost, not even to be properly heard by herself beneath the din of the prom goings on. And wow was just about the only thing Rachel's mind could come up with as she stared at Quinn's figure as the older woman made her way into the room.
Quinn's hair was long and flowing, parts of it connecting in braids in the back to keep it mostly out of her face, but some of it was pulled over the front of her shoulder, leading Rachel's eyes down to the perfectly fitted white button-down Quinn was wearing. A tasteful number of buttons were undone; Quinn's cleavage certainly wasn't competing with Rachel's tonight, but it was enough to have Rachel practically salivating at the sight. The shirt was expertly rolled up at the sleeves and was perfectly tucked into Quinn's dark grey slacks, accented by a thin black belt around her waist. Unsurprisingly, the slacks also fit Quinn as if they were specifically tailored for her – which, Rachel reasoned, they might have been – and fell just on top of the shoes she was wearing, hitting them mid-heel in the back.
She was walking perfection, and Rachel was damn near close to hiking up her dress and sprinting across the room to throw herself into Quinn's arms.
But she somehow managed to refrain. The post-it note with the 28 handwritten on it was pressed inside Rachel's dress alongside her breast, and it was a not-so-subtle reminder for both herself and Quinn that the end was closer than ever before.
Patrick stood by near Rachel's shoulder and looked anywhere but between the two women, having realized that something intimate was likely to be happening between them soon and not wanting to be caught in the middle of those gazes.
After Quinn entered and before she got close enough to speak to the nearest teacher, she stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes locked with Rachel's, and Rachel knew that she herself was being scrutinized in that moment just as much if not more so than she had done only moments before. As Quinn looked on, Rachel turned to face her full on before subtle turning in a three-sixty under the guise of looking around the dance floor.
It was Rachel's way of saying, Feel free to look, because it's all yours.
Quinn's jaw went noticeably slack, and Rachel smiled satisfactorily as if she had come out on top in some unspoken competition between them.
But as Rachel gave a tiny wave – which Quinn received with a wink and a nod – Rachel knew that they were both winners in the end.
About an hour and a half after Quinn arrived, she watched as the prom king and queen were announced. They were both students of hers – Matthew, one of the best basketball players Haverbrook had seen in years; the other, Janelle, one of the most well-liked and beautiful girls in school – and Quinn couldn't have been happier for them. As the crowns were placed on their heads, Quinn looked across the crowd for Rachel's face. And when Quinn caught sight of her, she saw only happiness with no trace of disappointment, and that was enough for Quinn.
Since she had arrived, Quinn had almost had to force her attention away from Rachel. Because every time she looked at the beautiful girl, she was enthralled, certainly, by the stunning dress and the way in which it accented Rachel's natural beauty; but even more than that, Quinn couldn't look away from Rachel's eyes – they glimmered gorgeously amongst the sea of spectacular lights along the lowered ceiling, and Quinn knew she had never seen anything more perfect in her life. She had been staring – observing – quite a lot; but really, it had absolutely been worth it.
The night, Quinn knew, was drawing to a close. And the sticky note Rachel had slipped to her earlier was evidence enough that 28 would soon be 27, and then they were just that much closer to graduation.
Making one last circuit around the gymnasium, Quinn collected some punch in a glass as it spilled from the fountain, sipping just enough of it to confirm that it had gone un-spiked for the duration of the night's festivities before continuing back towards the exit. The kids had started to head home or to after-prom parties, and Quinn was one of the teachers who was assigned to see everyone off. She stationed herself next to the open doors and bid everyone a good night, imploring them all to drive safely and take care of themselves.
During a lull in the dispersion of bodies, Quinn glanced back towards the gym and saw Rachel and Patrick coming towards her. Rachel, however, broke away towards the restrooms, and Patrick continued towards the exit doors.
Good evening, Miss Fabray, Patrick said, coming to stop a few feet in front of her, leaning back against the doorframe, a content smile on his lips.
A couple of students passed between them, and Quinn gave them her standard be safe bit before addressing Patrick. "Hi Patrick. Did you have a good time?"
He nodded with a brilliant smile on his face, and Quinn felt reassured by that – as well as the conversation she'd had with Rachel the night before – that Patrick wouldn't be betraying Rachel's confidence or turning Quinn into the administration, despite however much the situation actually warranted it. And the next words he signed to her sealed the deal, effectively calming Quinn's nerves.
I just want you to know, he signed, that I may be in the minority on this issue, but I really do see how Rachel lights up around you. And because of that, there is not any way that I couldn't support you two.
In response, Quinn said nothing; there really wasn't anything to be said beyond what her gratefully shimmering eyes were already proclaiming.
Quinn caught sight of Rachel in her peripheral vision. She turned her head and smiled in the other girl's direction, as did Patrick. For a moment, Rachel curiously glanced between Patrick and Quinn, wondering if there was something she had missed. But then Quinn was speaking and signing, "Have a good night, you two. Drive safely."
And as they disappeared down the still unfurled red carpet, Quinn quietly whispered to herself, "And be safe with my heart."
Maybe Patrick was driving slower than he normally would. Maybe. But really, he didn't think there were many people who could possibly blame him for trying to prolong his night with the beautiful girl sitting next to him.
It was exactly one minute until Rachel's curfew when Patrick pulled up alongside the curb in front of the house. Rachel turned to him, but Patrick pointed towards the front window, which was lit from the inside. They both looked on as the curtain flicked closed; apparently Shelby was still up. Patrick watched happily as Rachel visibly giggled at the spectacle of her mother.
"Patrick," Rachel spoke his name, and he could practically feel the wave of her voice wash over him. She leaned her head back against the seat and smiled at him before lifting her hands and signing, I had a great time tonight. Thank you so much.
With a sudden boldness even he was typically unaccustomed to and that Rachel definitely wasn't expecting, Patrick reached out and gently grasped Rachel's fingertips, bringing her closer as he leaned down to kiss the back of her hand. "Thank you, Rachel," Patrick spoke out loud, his words somewhat muddled but easily understandable.
Her fingers still in Patrick's hand, Rachel gave him a quick squeeze before getting out of the car and making her way inside.
As he watched her go, Patrick felt more like Ilsa than Rick as he thought to himself, I wish I didn't love you so much.
The door had barely snapped into place behind Rachel before Shelby was practically sliding out into the hallway from the living room, not saying a word but silently – and quite blatantly – begging for details. Rachel spun the lock into place before going into the living room, already mentally preparing herself for a replay of the entire night for Shelby.
Well, maybe not the entire night, Rachel thought, the recollection of Quinn's lust-filled eyes when Rachel had removed the note from its hiding place still fresh in her mind. She would definitely be editing that part out.
Shelby was practically buzzing with energy, and before Rachel had even settled on the couch, she asked, "Red Bull?"
"Maybe," Shelby responded, drawing out the word into far more than its standard two syllables.
"One or two?" Rachel asked again, this time laughing outright.
"Just one!" Shelby claimed. "And it was hours ago!"
Rachel wasn't used to speaking for great lengths of time, but Shelby was the perfect audience and Rachel really had loved telling stories when she was younger. Before either of them even realized it, it was one thirty in the morning and Shelby's sugar high was almost finished running its course; she would be crashing soon, Rachel knew, so it was time for them both to head to bed.
Shelby groggily climbed the stairs just ahead of Rachel, stopping and turning to her daughter as they reached the second floor landing. Before Rachel knew what was happening, Shelby was hugging her, and Rachel's hands – full of several bobby pins and her shoes – were haphazardly clutching at Shelby's back.
"I love you, Rachel."
Rachel's eyes squeezed closed, and she hugged Shelby tighter. "I love you too–" and she paused for an almost imperceptible amount of time before adding "–Mom" to the end of her statement.
Rachel really wasn't sure that she could explain to someone why she had never referred to Shelby as Mom before – at least not to the woman herself, though she had certainly called Shelby her mom over the years. Maybe it was the fact that she had spent the first ten years of her life without using the term in any particularly meaningful context; maybe she had felt too old to start changing old habits when she had moved in with Shelby after losing her dads. Shelby had always been her mom, but she had never just been Mom – until suddenly, she was.
Nothing was said about it though, and Rachel easily accepted the kiss Shelby planted on her forehead before they each went to their own bedrooms. Rachel wasn't even fully out of her dress before she heard Shelby snoring from down the hall.
And that confirmation of Shelby's unconsciousness was just what Rachel needed to be spurred into action.
She left her hair mostly up as it had been for the night, and she didn't even bother removing her makeup. Stripping off her dress, Rachel hastily threw on a pair of shorts and a long sleeve shirt before grabbing her tennis shoes and tiptoeing down the hall and the stairs and out the front door.
Quinn would be home by now, Rachel knew, and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to get a good night kiss.
