Spring Semester - Freshman Year of College

I kind of regret taking that right.

"Noah comes to visit tomorrow," Rachel panted and spread her arms east and west to allow the goose bumps traveling over them more distance. She wanted them shooting as far as they could reach, dancing over her breasts and dropping to her navel and springing north to her cold cheek; it pressed flush against the metal cabinet and she gulped for air.

"Okay."

"You excited?" she groaned as Quinn pushed into her from behind, her thighs meeting Rachel's ass. She dropped away again and then thrust back in, grunting as it pushed back against her.

"Sure."

"Are you spending the night?"

"Not if Puck's here. Where would I sleep?"

"With me, he can sleep on the floor, or with Janey."

"Can we not talk about Janey when I'm fucking you?" she panted and pounded her hips harder, eyes locked on Rachel's thighs and ass gripped beneath her fingers. It was magnificent, the way the skin turned white under her grip and then red in its wake. Her eyes crossed watching it over and over again.

She shifted them higher to her abs clenching and clenching each time she pushed forward. And then they dropped down to the silicone slipping in and out of the girl in front of her.

Her eyes flutter shut and she sunk her teeth into her lip.

"Quinn?" Rachel murmured.

"What?"

"Are you okay?"

"Perfect."

"Really?"

"I said I was perfect."

"You seem, oh god, you seem distant," Rachel moaned and strong fingers threaded into her hair. They gripped, tightened and pulled. Her head lulled back and lips attached to her stretched neck.

"How can I be distant when I'm right here?"

"Okay," she gasped. "Okay, Bee."


Intro to The Stage 2 mirrored Intro to The Stage quite expectantly. Everything remained the same, except Pleated Pants doubly shredded them after each performance and Quinn now met her after class for their ten o'clock session.

Session.

She didn't know what else to call it. Hands were on her the second she walked into the bathroom each Monday and Wednesday. They bent her over a sink. They pushed her into a wall. They took over her a toilet.

They were everywhere, but never there.

It'd been four months since they went from lying together to sleeping together. Sleeping together never quite turned into making love together and now just resembled fucking.

They were fucking.

And she felt Quinn slipping further and further away every time she touched her. It was an odd feeling, quite frankly, to have your fingers inside the girl you love, but to never have felt so far from her.

Those bright hazel anchors turned cloudier by the day and she was powerless to stop it, helpless to understand and hopeless to prevent it. Conversations turned weak, superficial and material.

How was your day?

Fine. The usual. Classes bored me. How was the play?

Sold out again.

That's good.

Yeah.

And then the lack of something to say turned into necessary touches. Necessary touches because of the lack of something to say. What else were two souls to do but fuck when they couldn't speak to each other?

She could pinpoint the moment things changed; it was the day Quinn met Janey and the redhead offered her an in. It was the day she showed up to her dorm, kissed her fiercely and never stopped.

They should have never had sex.

They promised to keep talking.

They could keep having sex if they were talking.

But they weren't talking.

The words coming out of their mouths were not words to propel them further, not words to clean the slate, and not words to explain feelings. The cage around her heart turned into a panic room: blackened walls and no entry or escape. That was still love, right?

They were still in love. She couldn't imagine not being in love with Quinn.

It was love.

Her heart still pounded upon sight of the girl. Her head still swam when their lips met. Her legs trembled when their bodies touched.

That was love.

Right?

The holidays passed without incident.

The day Leroy died didn't fare so well. She sat in Central Park and cried endlessly, remembering sitting by his bedside, standing by his coffin, and walking away from his tombstone knowing he'd never physically stand before her again.

Quinn held her hand on the bench.

She didn't say a word, but she held her hand.

Families threw frisbies, dogs chased sticks, and Quinn held her hand. She wondered if they would have a family one day. She wondered if there was a light at the end of this tunnel.

Was it a tunnel?

It seemed like a black hole, pulling her down, down and further down. Maybe it would explode like the Big Bang into beauty and creation.

Or maybe they would splat on the floor of the well.

Maybe this was the beginning of their end again, their part two. It couldn't be, could it? They couldn't fight through the past year just to be together only to not be together.

"Quinn," she whispered and rolled over in bed. Her hand fell softly over the bare porcelain back and dragged circles over the muscles beneath.

"Mmm?"

"You awake?"

"Mhm…"

"I need to ask you something," Rachel whispered, shyness overcoming her for the first time in months around Quinn. This was her best friend. Why the need to be shy? But she was, probably because she was terrified. She was terrified because their marathon sex life used to be bred from love, from necessity, from complete and utter attraction. Like the days at the lake house two summers ago when all they did was screw like bunnies.

It was all from love.

What was it now?

"Go ahead, I'm listening," Quinn muttered.

"Do you love me?" she whispered, her heart wrenching hold of her breath and praying the answer freed it again.

Quinn rolled to her back, sent straight to fully aware in a heartbeat's second. Her sleepy eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched before releasing.

"Why are you asking me that?"

"I think I'm just… I feel confused."

"About?"

"About us. It feels… I don't know the words. I don't know what to say or do. Why do I never know what to say to you?" she huffed and ran a hand through her hair.

"Everything's fine, Rach," Quinn muttered and forced a smile.

Quinn hated forcing anything. She loved touching Rachel, seeing Rachel, loving Rachel, but she hated forcing smiles. She hated forcing her heart back in the cage every time it tried to fly out and speak its mind. Every time it wanted to burst open and explain itself, beg for commitment, beg for promise, and beg for a future, she slammed it shut, locked the door and drowned the key in her fear.

"You promise?" Rachel pleaded, those innocent eyes fearful with hope unseen.

"I promise. And I love you. I'm still in love with you. Everything I felt the day I kissed you, the day you put on the nuns costume and sang for me, the day we had our first date, it all-"

Quinn snapped her mouth shut before her word vomit took her over.

"It all what, Bee?"

She gulped.

"It all remains, okay?" Quinn choked out against her will. "It's all there."

"Pinky promise," Rachel smiled and thrust out her pinky.

Quinn's heart cried; she was adorable, perfect, and remarkable. Everything about her screamed forever, so why did her heart not take her there?

She pulled her hand out from under the covers and wrapped her pinky softly around Rachel's.

"We keep talking, okay? We have to keep talking," Rachel pleaded.

But they weren't talking, not really.


Two days later, that same thought solidified itself once more in Quinn's head, just as it did in Rachel's. Brunette hair bobbed between her legs and Quinn's eyes rolled back. They rolled all the way back to her birthday junior year of high school: the first time Rachel went down on her.

She pretended everything was the same. She closed her eyes and wished.

Her heart felt light, chuckles filled the air, danger filled their fears, and a scared, excited tongue ran through her.

Now it was a tongue needing to be closer. It was a tongue needing to be inside her, further inside her, because all it could do was dig, dig, and dig, but never found anything.

Rachel pushed in deeper, lapped generously and attempted to not cry.

They still weren't talking.

Their hips talked, their tongues talked, and their bodies talked; they said everything the girls wouldn't, but even then they said it wrong. They lied.

They all lied.

"God, that feels good," Quinn moaned and tossed a hand over her face. Visions of seventeen year old Rachel flooded over her. Her heart swam.

And then the door slammed open.

Rachel hit the floor.

Quinn buried herself.

And Puck, along with Janey, gaped.

"Oh, my, god," he groaned, eyes searching and searching for any shred of nudity they could find. Rachel wiped the back of her hand over her mouth and let her quivering eyes find the wall. Quinn shucked her jeans back up her legs under the covers and willed her face to return to pale.

Red just wasn't her color.

"Knock much, asshole?" Quinn snapped.

"Is it sad I can't tell who you're directing that at?" Janey smirked.

"Yes," Rachel muttered and shot Quinn a glare.

Four months since their original argument and the blonde still made no attempt to get to know the redhead. That was also something they talked about without talking about. It joined the rest of their conversations under the rug as the elephant danced around on top.

Soon, he'd fall through.

Rachel knew it.

"Sorry," Quinn muttered and buttoned her jeans before tossing the covers off. She slid to her feet, grabbed her heels and headed for the door. Puck stepped to the right on instinct and Janey remained.

"Where are you going?" Rachel called and hot hazel eyes left daring blues to land on the girl on the floor.

"I have class."

"You didn't have class twenty minutes ago," Rachel said.

"That's when I was having sex. The situation changed."

"Ah, a woman after my own heart," Puck smiled. "Nice to see you, Q."

"Likewise," Quinn muttered and stepped past the beaming redhead. "What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

"I don't like you."

"Quinn!"

She shot eyes to the brunette and instantly softened.

"Call me later," she said and left. The door fluttered shut behind her and three sets of eyes avoided each other like the plague. What was there to say or do or even think?

"Rachel," Puck started. He knew what to say. He knew what to think.

He knew what to do.

"What?"

"Janey, give us a second?" he asked with a smile.

She grinned and nodded sweetly.

"I have dance anyway. I'll be back around seven if everyone wants to get food. Chinese, maybe?"

"Sounds great, Jay," Rachel smiled. "Probably be just the three of us… again."

"Nothing wrong with that," she grinned with a wink. "You'll be okay."

"Thanks," she muttered, let her head fall to her hands and Janey left with a smack to Puck's shoulder. He watched the door close, shoved his fists in his jeans and crawled down to the floor beside his friend.

He let his eyes peel over her; she looked tired. She looked tired like she looked after Lee died. And that fact right there, it set his stomach swirling in circles.

"Rach, let's talk."

Her eyes popped up with a glint behind them.

"You wanna talk?"

"Of course I do."

"About what?"

"Quinn. You. You guys. Your life here," he smiled softly. "Maybe even your father." Quivers took flight over Rachel's chin. Not again, she didn't need this again.

"What about Quinn?"

"What are you two?"

Her mouth dropped open to answer, instinctively, and then shut. She didn't know what they were. She didn't know what Quinn was besides just Quinn.

"I don't know."

"That's not good. I know you and I know you need definition. You need commitment. You need to know what's going on and you need to know what to expect. You're Rachel Berry; you don't fly in the dark."

"I know, but-"

"No. No buts. Why do you not have an answer to that question?"

"Because we don't talk about it. We're just going with the flow," Rachel assured with a small smile, a small deviously not so confident smile.

"It's breaking you."

"I'm not broken. If anything, Quinn fixed me," she huffed. "I was broken this time last year, Noah. I was a shell! She came back and she fixed me."

"Yeah and did she ever tell you why she left in the first place?"

"She apologized."

"That wasn't my question," he touted and she shot to her feet.

"Why are you pushing this? Why are you sitting here picking apart the one girl I've ever loved?" she spat.

"I'm not picking her apart. You know I love Quinn, don't act like I don't. But right now, you're drowning."

"I am not," she choked out, swiped a defying tear and steeled herself.

"Rachel."

"Can you go? I know it's rude to make you leave my dorm in a city where this is your lodging, but just, give me an hour. Can you give me an hour?" she pleaded.

He smiled softly and took to his feet.

"Of course I can. And I'm sorry, for upsetting you. I just care. And I want you to be with someone who cares just the same."

"Quinn cares."

"I know, Rach. I know," he nodded, nothing left to say. He wrapped a strong arm around her neck, pumped her shoulder softly with a fist, and nodded again on his way out.


Later, across town, Quinn thought about writing, because that's what they did in Composition 102; they wrote even more than they wrote in 101. Her celebrity hot, blue eyed teacher from 101 graced the same desk for 102.

And he still proclaimed such interest in Quinn. Most days she could work it to her advantage. He thought she inspiring, outside the box, and a breath of fresh air. She could pretty much do whatever she pleased. She could show up thirty minutes late because she'd rather sleep with Rachel than "free write" in her journal.

She was a reader. She was a god damn professional reader.

And all he wanted her to do was write.

"Fabray," he chirped from the front.

"Yes?" she muttered.

"Why is your pen twirling between your fingers instead of putting words to the paper?" he called, hopped off the desk and strolled down the aisle to her.

"It's out."

"It's out?"

"My pen ran out of words."

"Smart. Clever, even, but quite incorrect for the assignment you were given," he smiled. She dropped her pen to the desk, shot her eyes north and let loose.

"Here's the thing, Teach; I'm a reader. I read books. My mom reads books. It's in my genes. And it's my job, actually. It's been my job since I knew books existed. I don't write. I don't like to write. And everything I do in this class gets me in trouble all the way back to the first damn assignment. My thoughts need to stay inside my head. Do you understand? When they hit paper, they explode. They cause things. And not good things. Okay? So I've decided to be done. My pen ran out, I'm not replacing it, therefore I am done. See how that works? This happened, therefore that results."

"Quinn."

"What?"

"Stay after class, please. I want to talk to you about something that I think will reignite you."

"Fantastic," she muttered and let her eyes fall to the windows to her left.

Just fantastic.