The Longest Sixty Seconds Later
We're home. This isn't my house. What?
What had she done?
It repeated itself a thousand times in her head, pounding every half second into her heart and flooding her brain with red.
She pinched her eyes shut, rubbed the peak of her nose and then lulled her head left, praying it was a dream, praying it was a nightmare, praying that weight and arm over her stomach was some sort of mirage of fear.
But when she turned her head, those prayers splattered to the floor.
Quinn Fabray.
Quinn Fabray naked.
Quinn Fabray looking like a rag doll.
Quinn Fabray with a single red barrette holding her image together.
Quinn Fabray.
Fuck.
She lulled her head back and pinched her nose again.
It was her wedding day. Fuck, it was her wedding. And she had to start getting ready or she wouldn't be on time. Make-up arrived in an hour. Hair in two. Her designers in three. And photography in four. Guests in five and the media in six.
And then her wedding in seven.
She got married in seven hours.
And she was in bed with another woman.
Fuck, what had she done?
And what would Janey think?
Janey.
And the text.
God, her head was a mess. It ached, it pounded, and it swam. She needed out of that bed before someone walked in. She needed out from under Quinn's arm before her heart fell apart, rolled over and took up residence in the blonde forever. Fuck, she needed out of that bed.
She tightened her body and slithered out from under it.
She slithered to the edge, eyes wide on the blonde and praying she didn't wake up. Christ, what was she going to do? It was her hotel room. She couldn't leave. She didn't want to leave. She had to get married. She wanted to lie down and kiss Quinn. But god, she wanted to be out from under her.
She needed out from under her.
She couldn't hurt.
But would she hurt? Despite her aching muscles, last night felt incredible. It felt like rushing love out of a fucking volcano and she wanted that. But god, it had the power to crush her. Quinn had the power to crush her.
Quinn already crushed her.
Twice.
Three times.
Four if she counted last night.
Janey never hurt her. She never hurt anything.
She crawled to her feet, grabbed her robe and padded to her bathroom, quietly clicking the door shut behind her.
"Shit," she mumbled, dug hands into her face and willed it all away.
What the fuck was she going to do?
She slashed right and left and pounded a foot into the tile.
"Shit!"
She craned her head back, gasped for air and caught it with her fingertips pressed tightly over her mouth.
"Okay," she breathed. "Okay."
Work it out, Rachel. Work it out.
Quinn was pain. Quinn always brought pain.
Janey brought laughter.
But Quinn was the love of her life. She was in love with her, there was no denying that. But that didn't mean anything anymore. It didn't. She wanted a life of happiness. She wanted a life without such a horrid fucking riptide that she could barely navigate. She wanted trust. She wanted ease.
She'd fought too long. She'd fought through confusion at seventeen. She'd fought through death. She'd fought through heartache, heartache like she'd never felt before and never wanted to feel again.
She never wanted to feel it again.
And as she turned around, set the toilet seat lid down and plopped onto it, that pain flooding back over her. She bowed into her knees and cried.
All Quinn did was wreck her. That's all she did.
And Rachel had fought through it, clawed through, and begged her way through it for so many years. Quinn said it was all about her; life was all about her. Well Rachel's life was all about surviving Quinn.
She was tired of surviving.
She wanted to breathe.
She couldn't breathe.
She rose up, head lulled backed and she did exactly that.
She breathed and she felt Quinn flutter off of her.
She felt her flutter away and into the air.
She would live now. She would stop just surviving and she would live.
She gulped.
And she stood.
She walked to the door, closed her eyes, prayed for courage, and then she opened it. The early morning light of the hallway hit her and she stepped into it, pivoted towards the bedroom and found Quinn.
She found Quinn standing there.
She found Quinn standing there naked, arms at her side and stricken with fear. It wrenched Rachel's heart and didn't stop until it exploded.
"Choose me," Quinn begged.
Oh, god. It exploded.
"I can't," she cried.
That chin shook and, like an avalanche of despair and desperation, it traveled down her neck, across her shoulders and over her chest, erupting in trembling sobs through her body.
"Rachel. I can't do it. I can't live without you."
"You can. And you will."
"Don't- don't do this," she gasped between sobs, chest fluttering for hope and air and solace and a different outcome.
"I need to breathe and you don't give me that," she cried.
"Isn't- isn't that- isn't that how love should be?"
"Maybe, but I- I don't want it," she said, shaking out her tears, trembles and broken shell until she stood tall and with finality. She gasped for air and settled herself. "I'm sorry."
Quinn's face broke apart and her hands went for anything they could find, feeling no comfort in any of it. She rubbed her forehead, jerked to her side, gasped for air, stroked her neck, clawed at hope, and pounded her aching chest.
"Rach," she begged.
Rachel shook away the tears spilling over the edges. She clenched her jaw, bit her tongue and stilled the muscles trembled through her body.
She couldn't break. She couldn't break like Quinn was breaking.
"Please go."
Quinn's desperation and sadness boiled over the edge into rage at seeing the finish line. She saw their ending and she saw the edge of the cliff and she saw herself fall over it. And then, she saw that she had nothing to lose.
And her desperate pleading turned into desperate anger.
"You invited me!" Quinn cried. "You invited me to your wedding!"
"I missed you."
"No," she snapped, swiped at her tears. "You wanted me here. You," she gasped, all of it hitting her at once, "you invited me here to save you. You wanted me to come. You wanted me!"
Rachel shook her head, willing away the thought.
"No, you were my best friend. I wanted you here for support."
"That's bullshit!" Quinn shrieked and Rachel jumped. "That's a load of shit and you're a coward!"
"Just like you were."
"I came back, dammit! I'm standing here begging you! You made love to me last night and that was not a mistake!"
"You made love to me," Rachel shot back, regretting the deflection and lie and everything out of her mouth as Quinn shuddered to a halt in front of her. Rachel watched her die inside. She watched the last of the girl dissolve into ashes at her feet.
"So that's how it's going to be?" she muttered.
"Yes." No.
"You're such a liar."
"Please leave."
Quinn smacked a hand on the table to her left and she jumped again.
"Dammit, Rachel!" she shrieked, swiped her clothes off the floor and dressed herself one by one. "This is not you! You're quitting! You've lost yourself in this fake fucking world of easiness! That's not living!"
"I don't want to live if living is what I had with you," she muttered, unable to stop the lies and the viciousness falling from her lips.
Quinn needed to go.
"I can't believe you."
"That makes two of us," she whispered.
"Why are you quitting?"
"I have no fight left."
Rachel stood dejected in front of her and Quinn barely recognized her. If that was the new Rachel Berry maybe Quinn didn't want her. Maybe the girl she knew and loved was gone. Maybe she was.
"What happened to you?" she gasped.
Sullen, empty brown eyes pulled up to hers.
"You."
And it was enough to smother the last beat of Quinn's heart. She looked at Rachel and she watched the girl she knew and loved disappear. She was gone, forever.
And all that remained in Quinn was anger.
She would be angry the rest of her life.
"Fine."
"Okay."
"Fucking get married."
"Okay."
"To a woman you don't love who manipulates you."
"Okay."
"To a woman who's going to walk down the aisle with a broken nose and two black eyes," she spat, threw on her coat and paced towards the door.
"You wouldn't," Rachel muttered.
Quinn froze, spun on her heel and shot daggers into Rachel.
"I already fucking did."
And at that, she stormed out.
Rachel's formerly dead heart pounded once, then twice, and then again. She paced to the phone, picked it up and called Janey's room.
It rang and it rang and it rang until finally it picked up.
"Hello?"
"Noah?" she gasped. "Why are you in Janey's room?"
"Um… she asked me to visit."
Rachel fumed.
"You helped! You helped Quinn assault my fiancée!"
"Um… where's Quinn?"
"I don't know!"
"Um… is, um, what's-"
"Bring me my fiancée!" she demanded and slammed it back down.
She paced to the bathroom and then she paced to the bed. She paced back to the bathroom and then she paced to the bed.
Quinn had shown up to her hotel, the night before her wedding, punched her fiancée in the face and then made love to her.
Christ, she was Quinn fucking Fabray.
Rachel shivered with want against her will and the door busted open.
Janey stormed in, two black eyes, a swollen nose and white cotton strips protruding from each nostril. Rachel cringed.
"Oh my god," she whispered. "She hit you."
"Yeah! She fucking hit me! Where the hell is she?" Janey spat, stormed into the bathroom, threw open the closet and looked behind every piece of furniture as Rachel watched her.
She watched her move. She watched the way her hands flung about. She watched her hair jerk instead of flutter. She watched the fire in her eyes stem from heat and not passion. She watched all of it and she thought of Quinn.
"Janey, she's not here."
The redhead stopped and without a word, Puck ducked out of the room and slammed the door. He couldn't deal with it. If the wedding was called off, he would be notified. Until then, he had a broken Quinn to find and a tux to pick up.
Back in the room, Janey shifted her livid weight and fumed at her soon-to-be wife. She looked into those confused brown eyes and her heart lurched into her throat. She wanted to beat the blonde. She wanted to tighten her hands around her neck and drain the life from her if Rachel wouldn't.
"God, could you put the fucking nail in the coffin already?" she spat.
Rachel's eyes shot to hers.
"Moving day."
"What?"
"Moving day when we graduated college. Did you delete a message from Quinn on my phone? Did you do that?" Rachel asked quietly, fearing the answer and wondering if it even made a difference.
"No."
"Don't lie to me."
"Really? You're going to stand there and tell me not to lie to you? Where's Quinn?" she demanded.
"I kicked her out."
"And?"
"After I slept with her," Rachel muttered, eyes locked on Janey. She didn't know if she was testing her commitment, releasing her guilt, or setting herself free. All she knew was that she was talking. She was finally talking.
"You slept with Quinn the night before our wedding."
"Yes. Did you delete the text?"
"Yes."
"Janey," Rachel sighed, disappointed and stricken. "Why?"
"I told you when I proposed that I would do anything for you. It started the day I met you and I still mean it standing before you right now. I would do anything for you."
"I deserved to have a choice."
"You have one. Right now, you have one."
Rachel gaped.
"I slept with Quinn last night and you still want to marry me?"
"Were you expecting an out? Is that why you did it? I'm not giving it to you. Love is complicated. History is complicated. You're scared. I can see it. But I love you. And I want to give you everything. So no, I'm not giving you an out. Just like Quinn won't give you an out. You have to choose. And I'm begging you to choose me," she stated, calm and sure, and stepped towards Rachel.
Rachel caught her breath, cradled her heart in her hands and looked into the ocean blue eyes. They poured forgiveness, they yearned for acceptance and they burned fire into her.
"Why do you wanna marry me?" Rachel whimpered.
Janey stepped forward, opened her mouth, and gave Rachel a reason.
The next seven hours fluttered by with flowers, photos, make-up, and a wedding coordinator Rachel could've murdered. It was all do this, go here, smile at that camera, and talk to this fashion magazine and all over again.
Lights flashed in her eyes.
Designers pulled at her hair.
Artists pasted disguises onto her face.
And her heart swam in a muddy, sinking pit of confusion.
It was her wedding day. And she'd just recommitted to her fiancée that morning. Was that really what just happened? It took until the morning of her wedding to fully agree to marry her?
Her eyes fluttered shut as an artist swiped a touchup brush over her lid, darkening it just like her heart. It was an hour until the wedding, the wedding where she would marry Janey.
She brushed off the artist, stood, wobbled to the dresser and looked at herself in the mirror.
"You're getting married," she whispered and her eyes failed to react.
"Baby girl!"
She whipped to the door and her dad pounced in, tux fitting nicely over his shoulders and smile on his face.
"Hey, Dad," she sighed, instantly feeling better.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
"Good! Because I brought things," he beamed. Ever since she supposedly laid Quinn to rest after his advice to seek her out, he'd jumped on board. He was full blown on her side, Team Janey, Team Marriage, Team Happiness. And she loved him for it.
"What did you bring?" she asked, curiosity running over her.
He ushered the stylist team out of the room, much to her amusement, and then took a seat in the circle of white slip covered chairs surrounding her vanity area. She was the star, she was always the star.
He settled a box on his lap and winked at her before pulling it open.
"What is it?" she murmured.
"Well, there are certain things you need for a wedding. And somewhere in the process, and maybe because you have no mother, you forgot about them. So I took up the slack," he smiled.
Her heart wept for him; he was beautiful.
"What'd you do, Dad?"
"Here, your something new," he smirked, reached into the box and pulled out a small jewelry box. She reached across, humble smile on her face, and took it.
"Dad, what'd you do?"
"I didn't do anything. Open it," he grinned. She sat it in her lap and softly pulled the velvet top open. Glistening, brand new pearl earrings gleamed back at her. Tears flooded her lids and she nodded.
"They're beautiful."
"Put them on."
She swirled around to the vanity in her white form fitting but southern fluttering wedding dress, pulled out the diamond earrings from her ears and slipped the dangling pearls into their spot. They lit the sides of her face with elegance she'd never felt before.
She was classic Hollywood and the epitome of perfection.
She swirled back around and smiled, pumping palms at her ears to present them. He nodded, winked and gave her a thumb up.
"They're perfect. So next! Here," he reached in, grabbed another jewelry box and brought it out, "it's your something old."
She smirked, reached across and grabbed it.
The long, skinny box felt light in her hands and heavy in her heart.
"Dad, you're going to replace all the jewelry I was commissioned to wear," she laughed.
"Screw 'em," he giggled. "Open it."
She pulled it open, looked at the worn pearl bracelet and shook her head. It was stunning, weathered and reeked of class.
"Dad. This is- this is too much."
"It's an old friend's. It's your old, baby. Put it on."
She nodded, pulled off the diamond bracelet loaned to her by Tiffany's and dropped the old pearls around her wrist. They shot authenticity through her veins and it melted her insides. It was everything she ever wanted.
"And now," he added and reached into the box, "your borrowed."
He pulled out a baby pink butterfly barrette with bedazzled diamonds on it and those tears that flooded her lids moments before peaked over. She blotted them quickly in fear of her make-up artist and reached out.
"Dad, this is mine. They used to be earrings."
"I'm crafty, baby girl. I can bedazzle, too. And it's not yours, it was little Rachel's. It was yours when you were fifteen. You need a little bit of her back in you. So borrow this and find her," he encouraged, hoping his actual message got through her skull. He would stand by her, support her, love her til the end of the day, but by god, he was going to slap subliminal messages into her brain while he did it.
"Dad," she whimpered.
"Side of the hair, baby. Right at the edge of your veil. It'll fit nicely in the curve from where your hair's pulled back to where it drops straight down the back. It looks really elegant, baby. Classic, yet modern."
"Thanks, Dad," she sighed, remembering the first time she wore the earrings. She wore them in the park with Quinn, talking about love being enough. It was the day Quinn asked to be her girlfriend.
She could never escape her.
It was exhausting.
"One last thing," he smiled, watching her thoughts start to crank even more. It pleased him. "Here, your blue," he said, reached into the box and pulled out a burned CD. He placed it in her hand and grinned.
"What is it?"
"A CD, baby. CDs are still current, right?"
"Kind of. What's on it?"
"Music."
"Where's the blue?"
"Honey," he pouted and pointed to the top of it. Blue marker had been scribbled all over it.
"Wow. Seriously?"
"I told you I'm crafty. So I'm going to go and you listen to that. Okay? And then in about thirty, I'll meet you at the back door and we'll walk you down the aisle? Mr. Puckerman was outside sitting against your door when I got here. Can I let him in?"
"No."
"Something happen, honey?"
"Yes."
He stood and walked up to her back, gripped her shoulders and met her eyes in the bright, bulb-lined mirror. He bore into her.
"Baby girl."
"Yes," she whimpered, face scrunching up tightly for half a second.
"You have all the power in the world."
"Thanks, Dad," she nodded, stilled herself and nodded again.
"I'll be downstairs at the ballroom. Mr. Puckerman asked to escort you. Should I decline his offer?"
Rachel looked up into her father's eyes and saw his pleading.
"No, Dad. It's fine. I'll be out soon."
"See you in thirty," he smiled, kissed her cheek and walked out of the room. Rachel pinched her eyes shut. God, they were like water balloons and everything she looked at was a needle, everything.
She pulled herself to her feet, walked over to the stereo and popped the CD into the drive. It crackled, settled to track one and light static came through as she walked back to her vanity to finish getting ready.
And then a familiar voice filled the air, a familiar yet weak voice.
"Baby girl," he muttered and the needle found her balloons. They punctured and she wept as Leroy's voice fluttered over her. "Happy wedding day, baby girl," he said, clearing his hoarse throat and smiling. She could hear him smiling. She stood, walked back over to the stereo and her finger fell upon the lid. "I wanted to be there on this day, so Dad decided I should be. Therefore, we stole your little recorder out of your closet and have- have made you this. Don't worry, we'll put it back. You'll never know."
She sat down on the floor in front of it, blotted her eyes and sobbed.
"I'm proud of you sweetheart. I'm so proud of you for finding love. I'm so proud of you for being so courageous. It was never touched upon in our house because we never found it an issue, but you're the bravest girl I know. You never once faltered on your sexuality, your love and your beliefs. You went with your heart. And I'm so proud to be your father. I was always proud to be your father. I hope you know that. And I hope you know, everyday in my dreams and in this hospital bed, I imagine your future. I imagine you on Broadway. I imagine you winning your EGOT. I imagine your entire life, baby, with me right by your side," he whimpered with a cough.
She dabbed at her eyes and gasped through her sobs.
"And most importantly, I imagine walking you down the aisle. I imagine being there on your left side, Dad on your right, and walking you down the aisle. So in a few minutes, baby, when you walk down that aisle, you feel my arm in your left, okay?
"You feel my arm in your left and feel my kiss upon your cheek. Because, baby girl, I love you and I would be proud, the proudest father in the land, to give you away and place your hand in Quinn's."
She jerked her head up and gasped.
"So get her, marry your soul mate, enjoy the honey moon and don't do anything I wouldn't do," he chuckled. "I love you. And I miss you."
The static died, the track switched to two, and Frank Sinatra filled her ears. She curled over and sobbed into her hands all the while blotting her face away.
"Rach?"
She swirled to the door.
"Oh god, you okay?" Puck whimpered, shut the door and hustled to her.
He crouched by her side, rubbed her back and took over dabbing her face.
"What happened?"
"Daddy recorded me a happy wedding message," she choked.
"Oh no."
"Yes."
"You going to be okay?"
"Yes," she whimpered.
"Rach," he pleaded, one last time.
"Help me up. I have to be downstairs," she muttered and he pulled her to her feet. Her dress fell effortlessly around her, stunningly perfect in every dip and curve. She stepped into her heels, powdered her face in the vanity and then walked to the door.
He watched her go until she stopped and turned back.
"Escort me to my bride, Noah," she said, resigning to the fear and choosing some happiness.
His heart broke, shoulders slumped and he nodded.
It was done.
And before he knew it, he walked her up to the huge double doors on the left side of the ballroom, placed her hand in Hiram's and waited for their cue. His eyes darted around for Quinn.
Come on, Quinn. Surely, she hadn't quit. Surely, she hadn't.
But he saw nothing. She was nowhere.
And as the music started, he took his cue and he walked down the side of room full of people he hardly knew and up to his spot at the altar. He looked across at a blonde staring back at him. He assumed she was Janey's best friend, but he didn't know. She should be Brittany.
God, he didn't know anything anymore. It was all a hazy blur of wrong and he couldn't do anything to stop it as his chest cried and his tongue burned with everything he wanted to step forward and say.
But then the music changed and double doors pulled open down the left and right aisle. The entire room stood. And he saw a stunning brunette in one and a make-up caked redhead in the other.
Rachel put one foot forward and her heart leapt out of her chest. She was doing it. She was walking down the aisle and marrying Janey.
The arm looped in hers gripped tighter and she looked up to her dad's eyes. They overflowed with tears, tears of sadness.
"Dad," she whimpered.
"You happy marrying her?" he whispered, one foot mindlessly stepping in front of the other. If Leroy hadn't done it, couldn't do it, he would try. He had to. He had to. "Baby girl, are you happy marrying her? Answer me."
Thoughts from earlier in the day flooded her mind. Janey stood before her, bloody nose, black eyes and a plea on her lips.
"Why do you wanna marry me?" Rachel asked.
"What?"
"Why do you wanna marry me?"
The memory flooded over as her feet took her down the aisle.
"I want to marry because I love you. We fit. We're cut from the same tree. We drive through life and we love to laugh. We can sit together and be happy. You make me happy. It's all I ever wanted in a girlfriend or a wife. I just want to sit next to you and be happy. We have that. We have Broadway. We have music. We have each other."
Rachel clenched her eyes shut, one foot stepping in front of the other and her eyelids rocketed her back to sixteen. She straddled Quinn's lap, staring into those exerted anchor eyes, silicone still inside her and hands rubbing up and down her back.
"Would you ever wanna marry me?" she asked her.
"Yeah," Quinn breathed.
"Could you- could you tell me why?"
"I would tell you every day for the rest of our lives. I wanna marry you because there's no other choice for me. I've never looked at anyone like I look at you and you've never looked at anyone like you look at me. I believe we're made for each other because we clash, we fight, and we make love like it's going to kill us.
"But we do it because it's how it feels, our love. It grips my heart and never lets me breathe. I haven't breathed freely since I was fifteen and you sang to me in a nun's costume. And if I can make it the rest of my life without breathing right by your side, if I can make it through the rest of my life with my only goal as to make you smile, if I can make it the rest of my life with no purpose but to love you like our hearts were meant to rip open and love someone, like god meant for us to, I'd die a happy girl. I'd die content.
"Otherwise, I've wasted myself. I've wasted my love. I'm wasted. So you see, Short Stack," she smiled and placed a kiss to her lips, "I wanna marry because I can't not marry you. It's in my DNA to be by your side. I was made for you just like you were made for me. And I hope that's enough for you."
It played over and over in her head as her eyes rained free and her feet walked her forward, down the aisle and to her bride.
Her heart fought for Quinn and her brain screamed.
And god, she was so tired.
She was so tired of being scared.
She was so tired of being afraid.
She was so tired of fighting for Quinn. She was just tired of it.
She was tired of all of it.
She had no strength left to fight.
She had no strength left to debate.
She had no strength left to pound through life.
So she stopped trying. She stopped thinking.
She stopped fighting.
And she chose some happiness.
