A/N: I'm so sorry for the wait. I have loads of excuses but I feel like they don't amount to much of a reason, so I won't bore you with the details. Unless you're interested in the comings and goings of my life, you're always welcome to PM me. Anyway, the usual thank you to anybody who took the time to review and I can only hope it was worth the wait.
Enjoy :)
Twenty-Nine
Dancing penguins never kiss on the cheek. Rachel suspected their tuxedoed arrogance was at fault for depriving such a cute animal of those corresponding kisses. She knew it was true because she was their dance teacher after all.
The kissing continued however. Around her cheeks, across her forehead and over her nose, Rachel instinctively scrunched it up in what she assumed was a rather unattractive pose.
Also penguins didn't giggle, especially the dancing kind. They were fierce fox-trotting bandits, clearly not the type to indulge in bountiful moments of laughter. Yet the giggling was annoyingly persistent, so Rachel was naturally suspicious.
Brown eyes blinked open—batting away the snowy plains inhabited by her aquatically inclined students—and subsequently found herself drowning in pools of hazel.
Quinn.
She briefly wondered how the blonde managed to find her way to the South Pole until Rachel's sleepy mind registered the familiar surroundings of her bedroom. Ha, she knew penguins were entirely too debonair to appear adorable for formality. Circumstances were much less confusing now that she realized Quinn was at fault.
Rachel suddenly found herself being kissed again—Quinn had eagerly latched herself on to Rachel's top lip—and dear Barbra this was the perfect way to awake every morning. It was when Quinn's tongue started tracing that same lip that everything took a turn for the worse.
Her plan—expertly PowerPoint(ed) with animated bullet points, many colour-coded pie charts and one bar graph—didn't allow for this (rather enjoyable) activity at all. As a matter of fact, this very moment could be found on slide ten (bullet point two) entitled: Things Not to Do Even Though I Want To.
Yes, Rachel was well aware the title left little to be desired—as it was not at all concise and admittedly only just passable as a title to begin with—but it was the unfortunate casualty of a four o'clock in the morning (all night power-pointing) delirium.
And nevertheless, the slide was (regrettably) still sound in its reasoning.
Rachel reluctantly pulled herself away from Quinn, shyly gazing up into hazel eyes as her bottom lip unconsciously found itself between her teeth.
"Hi," she whispered and honestly, Rachel wondered why this couldn't work.
At the present time—for all extensive purposes—it was going swimmingly and it would until Quinn returned to Noah's, leaving Rachel unable to stop her fears from festering with Quinn-sized reinforcement.
Rachel would've ignored such problems previously. Her prior need for rose-colour was much more justifiable before circumstances with Finn unfolded like they had. And while Rachel didn't actually believe he loved her—anymore than a general ideal—the entire ordeal was still significant because losing Finn had hurt her. Watching him walk away had almost broken her and—while she generally hated the insipid offerings of the common cliché—Rachel knew with Quinn it no doubt would.
She was finally at the point where she needed an answer. If Rachel was being entirely truthful, it had been a miracle she'd lasted this long. Tomorrow, Rachel thought it was the perfect time to ask because she wasn't about to ruin Christmas for her own selfish desires.
Quinn distracted her with an amused quirk of her lips. Rachel probably didn't need to mention her fondness for staring at them.
"Berry," the blonde laughed with a small tilt of the head, "what could you possibly be thinking about when you have me on top of you?"
Quinn still seemed quite amused, something Rachel loved. Normally aloof and angry were the blonde's default settlings and while Rachel highly enjoyed the mystery of it all, Quinn teasing her—without the venomous blows to her self-esteem—was still something entirely too new for the novelty to have worn off thus far.
Rachel imagined her eyes were moony with passionate love, which was unfortunate because she hadn't quite managed to master communicating with her eyes as well as Tyra just yet.
She quickly started talking in an attempt to distract from the maniacal gleam to her gaze. "Well, as I'm sure you are aware, the Christmas season is known to inspire the giving of gifts and I happen to have one for you."
Rachel tried not to worry when Quinn started to frown, even though she was more than happy for the distraction. As one would expect, the urge to be kissing Quinn Fabray was much greater when said girl was on top of her.
"Oh," the blonde whispered before suddenly finding Rachel's pillowcase to be entirely too interesting to maintain eye contact.
"Quinn, what's wrong?" Rachel could feel herself spiraling into another nerve-filled ramble—something that was regrettably out of her control—though she supposed it was marginally better than fighting against her completely tattered self-control. "If it is the gift, I can, well I suppose I can't exactly return it and I highly doubt Brittany will allow me to even if such a thing was possible but... I hope you'll at least open it before you make a judgment on—"
"Rachel," Hazel eyes were now back looking into Rachel's own. "Where is the gift? I'd like to unwrap it."
Rachel opened her mouth to protest—since she didn't quite consider that an answer at all—but eventually found herself slipping into her closet to retrieve the snowflake covered box from one of the shelves.
She was walking back with it carefully perched in her arms when Quinn spoke, "I didn't think I'd get anything this year besides the bottle of peppermint schnapps Puck gave me last night."
Rachel looked (rightfully) scandalized, gasping dramatically as she sat on the bed and dropped the gift box between them.
"I can't believe Noah would think that such a thing was an acceptable gift for a pregnant woman. Of all the asinine things he's done—"
Rachel found her mouth suddenly muffled but continued ranting behind Quinn's hand until the blonde started talking. "He gave it to me for him, if I ever want to talk about things."
Quinn then pulled her hand away and Rachel was cutely pouting, even though the confession had pierced her heart.
"I see," she whispered before shaking her head at her irrational bout of jealousy. Rachel quickly grabbed the box and handed it to Quinn. "I feel like I'm required to give an introductory speech of sorts but I'd hate to ruin the surprise. I just thought… well I suppose I thought you needed something to remind you of how special you are."
Quinn bit her lip. "Rachel I…"
Seemingly overwhelmed (something Rachel certainly didn't want) Quinn's eyes were misty, her hands were shaking—as they gripped the box the tiny Diva had painstakingly wrapped—Quinn was every bit of the hormonal mess that accompanied pregnancy.
Unsurprisingly, Rachel was utterly charmed.
Something she expressed (horribly) with her eyes as wrapping paper fell away and the gift box was opened. Quinn finally pulled out the adorable blonde furred bear that Rachel and Brittany had spent a day stuffing at Build-a-Bear amongst a horde of hyperactive toddlers and Sesame Street Christmas carol covers.
"It's wearing a cheer uniform…" whispered Quinn as she fingered the ends of the miniature regulation Cheerio skirt.
Rachel perked up at the observation, smile appearing quickly on her face.
"Yes, Brittany and I approached Coach Sylvester for the contact information of her sweat shop of choice in Hong Kong. Naturally, she agreed after I explained the situation and agreed to pay the fee for express shipping." There was a pause in which Rachel found her attention drawn to the bear and then at Quinn's disbelieving face. She sighed. "Fine, I also might've agreed to help convince Mr. Schue to be wed to Coach Sylvester's maid, Hemelda, until she achieves green card citizenship."
Quinn opened and closed her mouth—clearly at a loss for words—before she whispered, "Why?"
"I know you think that you've lost this, Quinn but you haven't. You're every bit of the strong, brave and highly intelligent girl you were back when you donned this uniform." The blonde looked away and Rachel reached out for her hands, covering the slender digits with her own until they were a tangled mass amongst fair-haired fur. "I suspect you already know of my fondness for metaphors, so I thought physically representing one was appropriate."
Hazel eyes were brimming with tears and Rachel suspected that Quinn was trying desperately to stem their fall. She always had to be the strong one and it must've been scary to find her emotions were now biologically programmed to ignore her every command.
Quinn's breathing faltered, her voice noticeably cracking as she said, "That girl was horrible to you, Rachel."
The tiny brunette squeezed the still captive digits in her hands, as the words hovered between them as the past always tended to do.
"I'm more than aware of that, Quinn," Rachel admitted softly, her anxiety festering until her gaze turned shy, "but that doesn't alter the aforementioned characteristics that make you wonderful."
Rachel was attacked with lips again, as tears finally spilled over onto the blonde's rosy cheeks. Bear Quinn fell beside them on the bed and sweet Barbra, Rachel almost hoped that this moment could last forever. Except, it wasn't fair and it shouldn't. Quinn deserved to be kissed by somebody that was entirely focused on her, not the uneven ratio Rachel was currently presenting.
She was gently pushing Quinn away and subtly putting some space between them, though the look on the blonde's face told Rachel she hadn't been as stealth as she'd originally intended.
"Little Leon will be knocking on the door any second. I just need a few minutes to—"
Banging and high-pitched squeals—as they travelled from Rachel's door down the hallway towards her father's room—were suddenly reinforcing her words, so Rachel reasoned the rudeness of the interruption could be over looked. It was true though. Her nephew was far from patient like every five-year-old naturally was around the holidays, or any day for that matter.
Quinn's hold loosened enough for Rachel to break free and the tiny Diva gave Quinn a small smile before slipping behind the washroom door.
Rachel stood still for only a moment—breathing deeply as she forced a cheerful smile to appear so flawlessly in the mirror—and then she set about looking for a suitable brush to attempt to tame her unruly bed hair.
Humming Christmas carols as she went.
Santana and Brittany were miraculously on time, something Brittany cleared up the moment they stepped through the door.
"I was finding San's apples in the car when I saw a Christmas elf spying on us through the window and Santa didn't want the dentists' to be scared so they could come home for Christmas."
Rachel just nodded as little Leon ran by, freely hitting Santana's shin with the toy light saber Rachel's daddy insisted on putting in his stocking. His motives were purely self-serving of course; a fact that was only further proven when said man suddenly appeared from the kitchen with a sword of his own.
Santana took to glaring and mumbling profanities in Spanish until the battle disappeared into the living room. Beside her, Brittany just seemed disappointed they'd left her behind.
Rachel smiled. "I'm more than positive my daddy is in possession of another sword. You're welcome to ask him for it, if you'd like."
It seemed that was all Brittany had to hear before she was skipping off in the direction of Rachel's daddy's failed attempts at a formidable battle cry. It was honestly entirely too embarrassing for much more of a comment.
Only then did Santana speak up. "Berry, your little fellowship friend is lucky Brit's doesn't condone the killing of elves."
Rachel frowned because while she certainly wasn't well versed in the fantasy works of J.R.R Tolkien, she knew that the elves weren't at all comparable to hobbits.
"So B finally got you declawed," Quinn quipped from her side.
Rachel watched the blonde's supple curves turn dangerously sharp. Her gaze turning icy as slender hands clenched at the red and white fabric stretched over her stomach, Rachel was quickly realizing that Quinn had vastly misinterpreted the situation. Though, Quinn defending her honor had Rachel's heart close to beating out of her chest, Santana had already decided to retaliate and things were escalating far more quickly than Rachel was ready for.
"What's it to you, Juno?" Santana took a menacing step forward and Rachel decided that her still unproven hypothesis of Santana's psychopathic tendencies really needed to be revisited at a later date. "It's not like you care when it's got nothing to do with you."
Rachel took that as her cue to put herself between them and boldly push Santana towards the kitchen. Well, 'nudge' would be a more accurate word, since 'push' would ultimately find her in a ditch somewhere by Boxing Day.
The thought had words tumbling out of Rachel's mouth in no time.
"Please see if my auntie requires any assistance with the green bean casserole. She's been looking forward to meeting you ever since I used feral as an adjective to best describe you."
Santana glanced over at Quinn and then back at Rachel, a smirk finding its way onto her face. "Brits does want to get her hands all up on you, so if you wants me to get feral—"
"Kitchen, please," Rachel interrupted, as she quickly found herself grabbing onto Quinn to keep the blonde at her side.
Santana laughed loudly, her gaze momentarily boring into the tempestuous hazel in Quinn's eyes before leaving with a shake of her head.
Most of the time the angry mask Santana constantly wore—consisting of quite a shocking amount of bravado and intimidation—was at fault for hurting countless people's feelings. Rachel had learned to overlook such an unfortunate character flaw (a picking her battles of sorts) but then there were other times when the girl would just assail a victim for sport.
It was something a lot less easy to forgive.
Quinn's sexual identity was always a touchy subject for the blonde; Rachel suspected it was most likely the topic of sex as a whole to be honest. Her stomach churned at the thought; how she was selfishly planning on accosting Quinn with a question that would make her face such a thing head on. It was just…she glanced up at Quinn—while her eyes were still being all dark and gorgeous—their relationship couldn't continue like it was. Well, truthfully, Quinn didn't seem to mind, so Rachel supposed she'd have to admit to her motives being entirely self-serving.
She sighed and unintentionally captured Quinn's attention. "Are you okay, Rachel?"
"Yes, of course, Quinn," Rachel offered, smiling brightly in the face of the blonde's gentle gaze. "I'm aware that Santana's threats are mostly comprised of frivolous promises unless I somehow wrong Brittany in anyway. Though to be technical, if we were keeping score, Santana is much further along in that department than I am."
Quinn laughed lightly and started to slowly lean in—something Rachel innately mirrored—until somebody behind them started obnoxiously clearing their throat. Both turned around to see Rachel's dad standing there in an adorable frilly blue apron with a wooden spoon in his hand.
He immediately noticed the attention on his attire and sighed. "Your Aunt Robin decided that being single meant that she was more in need of the apron advertising free kisses and hugs."
Rachel giggled while Quinn offered an amused smile. She imagined the blonde was still too terrified of her father to outright laugh at his misfortune.
"You look lovely, Dad," Rachel bit her lip to stifle another giggle at his petulant frown. "Baby blue will forever be your colour."
He sighed with an almost resigned shake of his head. "Don't humour me, Rachel, just take a scarf out to your nephew. He and your friends are building a snowman out front because neither your aunt or I trusted Santana around fire and knives."
Rachel nodded and he swiftly strode back into the kitchen where she imagined her auntie was putting him through his paces. The woman didn't quite accept her family's hopeless dedication to take out all that well.
Nevertheless, Rachel and Quinn were dutifully dressing for the outdoors minutes later. Neither wanted to be drawn into the kitchen to cook or (in Quinn's case) cook with her dads and it just so happened that the snow—that WOHN News 8 (again) failed to inform their viewers of—was a perfect excuse.
When they reached outside, Rachel made her way over to little Leon immediately, leaving Quinn to sit on the swing on the porch. That was unfortunately when Santana spotted her.
"It doesn't surprise me that you own mittens on a string, Berry, oh and they're Christmas themed too. How precious."
Rachel rolled her eyes. "You've already had the pleasure of seeing them when you insisted on drowning your sorrows in a slue of peach schnapps."
"Sanny be nice," Brittany suddenly appeared, tugging on her girlfriend's hand to get her attention. "We need help putting the head up on Frosty, then we can put on his magical hat."
Brittany held up a quite shabby top hat and honestly Rachel had no idea where she'd retrieved it from, though it wouldn't surprise her if her daddy had it stashed away somewhere for just an occasion. That was when her nephew decided to throw a snowball in Rachel's face. She squealed loudly at the slight pain and shock of the cold with Santana gleefully high-fiving Leon in front of her.
Apparently the two were over their differences—how marvelous.
Rachel brushed off the snow with her hands the best she could, more of less turning it into slushy water. Thankfully her nose was just red from the cold and not anything harrowingly worse but she was unfortunately in need of a towel.
"Leon, we'll talk about this later, " she said, as she gazed disappointingly at the boy. Him pouting in his Spiderman themed snowsuit was quite adorable with his messy hair and cute brown eyes. "Though I suspect bad influence was at fault."
Her gaze naturally fell to Santana—who was currently bent over laughing and using Frosty's head to prop herself up—when Quinn appeared beside her. Rachel just sighed and allowed the blonde to pull her inside.
She'd had been pulled upstairs to the bathroom and gently pushed onto the toilet seat. Her daddy had given them a curious look as they passed him rummaging through the hall closet for the special holiday themed placements. He had to be aware of the romantic turn in her relationship with Quinn—both her fathers probably were—but thus far neither of them had mentioned it.
Normally they wouldn't need too, as Rachel was quite open about her life without much prompting. She imagined the inevitable closeness of a small family was at fault, though she supposed it was rather difficult to find a confidant—before Brittany—when she wasn't all that liked by her peers. She wasn't quite sure why she hadn't told them, it just never seemed to be the right time.
Rachel watched Quinn carefully run a cloth underneath the tap before ringing it out. The blonde slowly turned and raised her hand up to gently wipe the damp warm cloth along the skin of her face.
"I'm sorry about, Santana," mumbled Quinn, as she cautiously wiped around Rachel's reddened nose. "She's mad at me and she's taking it out on you."
Quinn's eyes didn't look as dangerous; that sharpness being muddled into an almost softer shade of brown. Rachel sighed dreamily and let her eyes slip closed when Quinn moved the cloth to wipe over their lids.
"Don't apologize for somebody else's actions, only your own," Rachel reached up to stop Quinn's ministrations, carefully pulling the cloth from her grasp and setting it near the sink. Letting her eyes flutter open, she looked up at Quinn with a shy smile, "and I believe you have nothing to apologize for that you haven't already."
Quinn bit her lip and nodded. "Okay."
Rachel wanted to kiss her and it was suddenly rather difficult to remember why the matter was even up for debate. Quinn was wonderful and in these moments that was sufficient enough to assuage Rachel's fears just momentarily. She found herself leaning up towards Quinn against what she knew was better judgment.
Until the bathroom door slammed open.
Rachel immediately spun around and sighed at Santana's overly violent entrance. "Santana, surely you've had enough of tormenting me for one day. I don't—"
"We need to talk, Bashful Baggins," the girl interrupted with an unapologetic shrug. "Your tiny dad is making hot chocolate and didn't want me near the stove. I know how to cook, okay but anyway, Tubbers, they want you downstairs."
Quinn seemed hesitant to leave but Rachel knew she wasn't about to outright refuse to help one of her fathers. She lightly squeezed her hand before letting it go. Santana didn't waste any time striding over. Quinn rolled her eyes but passed her on her way to out of the room without incident.
Rachel huffed exasperatedly. "Why must you bait her? Don't you think she's going through enough?"
"Seems like she's got it pretty easy to me." Rachel continued to stare incredulously and Santana rolled her eyes. "It's her own fault she's waddling around with a human mistake inside of her, so that shit totally doesn't count."
Rachel scoffed because honestly the girl's insults were getting rather ridiculous, especially when Rachel knew that she'd initially wanted to assist Quinn in the beginning.
"Yes, Santana that was a completely rational explanation." She quickly stood up so Santana wasn't towering over her by much any longer. "I must congratulate you on being more idiotic than believing a hot tub is a sperm count amplifier."
Santana glared at her for a moment—and Rachel might've momentarily thought she swallowed her tongue—before the Latina shook her head. "That's what she told him? He's more of a mistake than baring Puck's offspring."
Rachel sighed but didn't say anything to dispute it. Finn was a great guy—though greatly misguided and his intellect was a tad slow—but she'd never be able to convince Santana of that. Rachel was quite verbose but Santana's wit—and general distain for Finn—would keep them arguing for days.
"If you're done 'keeping it real' as you like to say, what is it I can do for you, Santana?"
The Latina's shoulders fell just a bit and she supposed that was a subtle sign of her lowering of arms. Rachel was eternally grateful because as one would expect a battle of wills with Santana didn't at all interest her as much as it did when with Quinn.
"Listen, I just wanted to say thanks or whatever…" Santana then was rolling her eyes, something Rachel would be a fool not to expect, as the Latina did it rather a lot, "not that you did anything worth it but Brit is forcing me to."
Rachel bit her lip, attempting to stifle her untimely need to giggle because Santana was utterly hopeless in regards to Brittany, so much so that she was using her girlfriend as fodder to dismiss doing something nice. This more than explained why the girl had been so insufferable today.
"There is no thanks necessary," though Rachel took that moment to beam brightly in Santana's direction, "but why exactly am I receiving these enforced words of gratitude?"
Rachel looked up at the girl curiously and found an almost pained expression plastered all over the Latina's face. She supposed some things were above the realm of change when dealing with Santana Lopez—her need to appear mean and unflappable was one of them.
Santana crossed her arms, eyes boring down into Rachel's own. "I went to my parent's for Christmas. I told them I wasn't leaving B for anything and now we're working it out and stuff."
Rachel squealed, jumping up and down excitedly.
"That's fantastic, Santana," she exclaimed, beaming and rosy with complete happiness before she added, "I'm going to hug you now."
She managed to latch on for a few seconds before Santana could make an offensive move that shook her off. Rachel didn't mind, as this was their first ever hug as friends—it being entirely one sided didn't matter in the slightest.
"God, Berry," Santana yelled, jumping away rather dramatically, as if she were burned. "I gots to burn my clothes now to purge myself of the stench of barnyard animals and bacon grease."
Rachel sighed. "Santana, I highly doubt I smell—"
"Look, I know you're gearing up for the journey away from the Bag End, so just don't listen to what Q has to say," Santana paused to shake her head (almost fondly) which ultimately puzzled Rachel entirely. "When that closet case opens her mouth, she's as good as a mute at a spelling bee."
Rachel's eyebrows lifted at the insult but she was quickly interrupting because she honestly didn't understand (or at all want to know) where this insulting bit of advice was leading. "Santana, I don't—"
"Yeah, Berry, you should know that I don't care." Santana waved her hand carelessly around and Rachel took a step back in an attempt to thwart any attack to her nose. "I planned on giving B my credit card to help along your aspirations to be a bait date on To Catch a Predator in time for Christmas but I forgot, so just make whatever decision you have to make on Q's actions instead."
Rachel bit her lip, her mind racing in an attempt to detect any impropriety within Santana's remarks. It was when she found herself without any that she became suspicious and so utterly confused.
"Why are you being so… well somewhat accepting of our relationship now?" she finally blurted out because it was entirely impossible for her to keep in. "If I'm not mistaken, it seems like you almost want us to succeed."
Santana shrugged. "Watching you both crash and burn is fun for me."
"I don't believe you," Rachel petulantly copied Santana's previous nonchalant response to which Santana answered with a slight narrowing of the eyes, "but that's beside the point. How am I supposed to be in a relationship when I'm constantly at a loss for my part in it? You can't honeslty—"
"I'm going to stop you right there, Dwarf," Santana raised her hand up immediately to stop whatever slue of words Rachel wanted to add in retaliation. "I'd say I told you so but that's too easy even for me. You can continue to blubber on about how fucked up your tubby girlfriend is once I'm gone 'cause that right there is what you dumped Finnpotent for. So make a decision already, 'cause the voluntary victim gets nobody's sympathy."
Rachel sighed because Santana was right, annoyingly so. Mostly because of the smugness and the condescending delivery—Rachel imagined it was an innate skill.
Still, hadn't it been what people were telling her all along, something she'd known all along? It was entirely possible that Quinn was offering all she'd ever be able to and Rachel supposed that was where her problems lie. Just because she was always going to be a person who wanted more than that.
"I don't know what to say…" Rachel finally mumbled with another small—resigned—sigh.
Santana (as expectedly) gasped dramatically. "Hallelujah! Praise my Morissette-looking, God! She finally shuts her damn mouth!"
"I don't appreciate your remark, Santana Lopez," exclaimed Rachel, pouting as she crossed her arms in aggravation. "While I enjoyed the movie in question—mostly because I always find myself somewhat enamored by the peculiar acting duo that Matt Damon and Ben Affleck make—everybody knows if God was ever to be female, Barbra would most surely be the best candidate."
Santana shook her head, her eyes straying to the ceiling in complete disbelief. "Brits wants me to invite you to Puckerman's party for New Years. I already told her you said yes because she gets what she wants."
"I'd love to attend." Rachel smiled and excitedly clasped her hands together. "Usually my plans are a lot less glamourous until my fathers and I settle in to watch Barbra in—"
"You're good for Q, you know," Santana said in the most conversational voice Rachel had ever experienced while dealing with Santana Lopez, also completely omitting how she'd rudely interrupted, much to Rachel's chagrin. "She needs you hell of a lot more than you need her, before and after she pushes out her demon spawn."
Rachel didn't notice Santana had left until she angrily slammed the bathroom door on her way out.
