On the morning of Quinn's departure, Finn rang the doorbell to her house. And when she answered, he shouldered his way inside and carried her suitcases to his truck despite Quinn's insistence that she was going to take a cab to the airport instead. Finn pointedly ignored her as he arranged the suitcases at the back of the truck while Rachel watched with a travelling mug in her grasp from which she drank her coffee.
"There's no way we're just going to let you leave and not drop you off at the airport," Rachel chastised. "We want to milk our time with you as much as we can."
"Fine," Quinn sighed. "It's not like I can stop you, now that you have my bags. Do you realize this is kind of like, a kidnapping? Sort of?"
"I guess," Finn grinned. He stepped back, brushed the dust from his hands. "Alright, we're good to go."
The three of them climbed into the cab of the truck. Finn and Rachel in front and Quinn at the back. It smelled faintly of grease but the truck was neat and clean. A car air freshener twirled and spun on its hook by the rearview mirror. It made the interior smell like faded leather but with a muffled quality.
For their drive to the airport, they rolled the windows down to usher in the cold air while they sang songs from their youth. They belted out songs from their competitive set lists, the speakers thumping with the sheer volume Finn put them in. At stoplights, they got stares, but there was a bright, glittering moment where the three of them – Finn, Rachel, and Quinn – existed beyond boundaries and other people's judgments and opinions.
As Finn drove, they passed by wide open fields that seemed like a golden blur in the bright autumnal light of day. The kind of openness that once made them feel so small, what with the stark blue sky, cloudless, stretched overhead. But in the truck, with Finn and Rachel, belting songs they all sang before, Quinn felt larger than life. As large as their voices would allow.
It felt strange to be remembering the past, back when they were younger, more foolish, more virulent with their desires, all while heading off to the horizon to the furtherance of Quinn's future.
The opening chords of Don't Stop Believin' played through the speakers and they sang with more fervour than before.
Finn pulled over by the curb at the drop-off point of the departures area of the airport. Stepped out of the truck to heave Quinn's suitcases down while she and Rachel grabbed a trolley with which to cart her luggage. Quinn lifted her bags on top of the ribbed flat of the cart and sighed, staring at Finn and Rachel whom she both loved at different points in her life. She hugged Finn first, arms tight around his neck.
"Thanks for dropping me off even if you didn't have to. I'm sure you'd rather be at home right now."
He patted her back and smiled. "That's not true, I don't mind. Good luck at New York, Quinn. I'll let Kurt know you're in the city too. I'm sure he'll want to see you."
"You take care, okay? You can call or text me if you need to talk. I mean it." She said sternly and Finn nodded. When she released him, he gave her hand a squeeze before climbing into the truck to sit behind the wheel. Quinn noticed him wipe the corners of his eyes with his knuckles.
Before Quinn stood Rachel, eyes brimming with tears that made her eyes brighter than ever. "Don't look at me like that," Quinn said weakly. "I've always hated seeing you cry – which is saying something because you used to cry a lot."
"Sorry," Rachel sniffed but with a watery smile.
"I was teasing," Quinn brushed her knuckles against Rachel's warm cheek, and she leaned into her touch. "I'll see you soon, as soon as you come back to New York if you wanted. You won't even have time to miss me."
"You're wrong. I miss you already."
Quinn laughed and tugged Rachel into her arms. She nestled into Quinn's neck and sighed. Quinn, knowing that Finn was likely watching them, and the limited time they could spend saying their goodbyes in the busy thoroughfare, released Rachel.
"I love you," Rachel whispered. She rose to the tips of her toes and kissed Quinn on the lips. It was a brief touch, but it was soft, it was a promise. Quinn's arms wound around Rachel's waist to give her a soft squeeze. The dark-haired woman eased herself from Quinn's embrace to leave. She climbed into the truck beside Finn.
And then Quinn turned around. Eyes following Rachel as they drove away.
Finn focused on the winding road ahead, the music's volume turned low. He just took the ramp that led into the highway after dropping Quinn off at the airport, silence more deafening than the music and the singing that earlier permeated the space of the truck.
He had watched them kiss and it was as if his heart was seized in a tight fist. He rubbed his chest in hopes of alleviating the feeling. As much as he wanted to be happy for Rachel, it was one thing entirely to watch their intimacy. The easy way Quinn's arms wrapped around Rachel's waist as if that was where she belonged.
Man enough to admit his jealousy to himself, he sighed in hopes of getting rid of the ache in his chest anyway.
He and Rachel drove in the companionable silence that had come to define their marriage. Rachel on her side of the cab, staring at the passing of the rolling hills, the farmlands, the fields of corn, and the low squat buildings of their hometown. To Finn, they were recognizable, lending the comfort of familiarity that he refused to live without.
The road stretched on for miles and miles of sometimes undulating hills. Finn thought, focused on the road, but his thoughts did not come in coherent words, not in phrases he could speak out loud to be understood by anyone else. Images flashed in his mind. Memories that stemmed from high school.
The way Quinn looked at Rachel after they sang their one and only duet. How Rachel refused to get married the first time without Quinn. Or when Rachel cried during the time Quinn was on a wheelchair and she eased Rachel's guilt when she told her that the car accident was not her fault. Quinn's face, the gold of unshed tears in her eyes when she – now that Finn thought about it – implored Rachel to let go of her past and start her future.
How, when Rachel and Quinn looked at each other, it lingered too long to be just friends.
He noted those moments as something important for the sake of their developing friendship once but did not think much of it beyond that.
Until now.
"Oh shit," Finn muttered under his breath.
Rachel glanced at his direction. "Is something wrong?"
"Just realized something," Finn said, grip tight against the steering wheel, knuckles paled. He felt queasy. God, how could he have been so stupid? Quinn being in love with Rachel didn't come for nowhere – it had been right in front of him all along.
"Do you ever think about how you and Quinn could have been together in high school if it wasn't for me?"
"What brought this on?" Rachel asked with a small furrow in her brow.
"Nothing, nothing… I was just thinking," Finn mumbled.
Rachel chuckled and held his hand that rested on the truck's gear stick. "If it had not been for you, I wouldn't be the woman I am today. I love you, and you are an important man in my life. So no, Finn," she looked at him and a warm feeling enveloped his chest. "I don't regret my time with you."
That Rachel hated the time they spent together, young and in love, was exactly what Finn dreaded. With Rachel's assurance came a sigh of relief that nearly forced tears in his eyes. He cleared his throat and locked his fingers with hers. "Thank you."
The first few weeks that Quinn lived in New York with Brittany and Santana, she tried her best to grow familiar with the neighbourhood where they lived. It was difficult at first – she got catcalled all the time. People could be rude. Cabs were a free for all. And living in a cramped apartment with her very sexually active best friends who could go for hours left Quinn tired most mornings. Not even her presence in their apartment could stop them from fucking all night long.
Not that Quinn wanted them to stop. As much as possible, she made herself scarce to explore the city – Rachel's city. She went to museums, spent a lot of her time staring at paintings at the MET or killed time after work browsing the shelves at the bookstores in every corner of the city.
Her job, so far, had been easy. A lot of phone calls and emails, nothing strenuous nor directly theatre-related, though her boss, Elaine, assured her it was because the planning for the upcoming season had yet to begin. For right now, Quinn spent a lot of time in the office ensuring that the theatre director received and responded to her calls and messages on time. It wasn't glamorous by any stretch but it allowed her to watch how the backstage operated for a real Broadway show rather than student-led productions that made up her expertise thus far.
For the most part, Quinn's life transmuted into something busy and hectic that it did not leave enough time for her other concerns. Though when her mom came home from her romp on the other side of the world, Judy Fabray called Quinn to thank her for looking after the house for the time she was gone. She promised to help her pay for an apartment, much to Quinn's appreciation since currently, she slept on the couch in her friends' living room and it was lumpy and smelled like greasy french fries.
One night, after a month of living in New York, Quinn opted to stay in rather than cruise the New York nightclub scene. Santana found her on the couch in sweats, the television tuned into the Food Network.
"Are you going through something?" Santana asked.
"No? What do you mean?"
"Is Rachel back from Ohio yet?"
At the mention of her name, Quinn sagged. The divorce proceedings took longer than usual and a month passed before Rachel returned to New York as a divorced woman.
She came back just as work at Quinn's place of employment piled up so it left her with hardly any time to sleep, let alone socialize. It vastly diminished the amount of free time she had – having only weekends free. As if fate decided to pile more obstacles, Rachel had shows on weekends which left her void of downtime as well.
Quinn sighed. She was starting to think they were not meant to be.
"I know that look," Santana said with a scowl as she plopped herself on the couch beside Quinn. "You haven't seen Rachel in so long that you're not sure if she even wants to see you anymore." Quinn sagged even further and Santana sucked her teeth, further announcing her annoyance. "You've been texting, right?"
"Sometimes – she hardly has time to respond most days because of her busy schedule, and when we do get the chance to be texting, it's so late and one of us inevitably falls asleep almost as soon as we start." Quinn dug the heels of her palms into her eyes. "Maybe she was just bored in Lima so she decided to kill time with me."
Santana raised a fine brow. "Did she say that?"
"Well, no."
"You're making an ass of yourself," Santana reprimanded as she threw an arm over Quinn's shoulders to pull her into a haphazard hug.
"It's not really something you'd say to someone's face though." Quinn said, her head resting on the crook of her best friend's shoulder.
"Is it not?"
Quinn laughed. "Not everyone is as honest as you, Santana."
"They should – it lets people know where you stand. But anyway, I can't stand seeing you moping, especially for Rachel fuckin' Berry."
"Old habits die hard."
"Jesus Christ," Santana snorted and rubbed Quinn's back. In an odd non-sequitur that nearly gave Quinn whiplash, she asked, "you're going apartment-hunting this Thursday, yeah? Let's have lunch after – my treat."
"Sure," Quinn said, as she did not think much of the offer.
Quinn emerged from the fifth apartment-viewing she attended on a brisk Thursday afternoon. Of the five places, only two stood out to her, really. One was close to her workplace but the hallways and the rickety, haunted elevator reeked of long-dead roses, and the other was not far from Brittany and Santana's place, but the manager of the apartment leered at her to the point of unbearable discomfort – which was saying something.
Before she parted ways with her real-estate agent, she checked her phone for messages. One was from Santana, asking her to meet her at the restaurant they agreed on. The other message was from her boss who called for a meeting at the theatre for a last-minute discussion of the decisions made surrounding the upcoming theatrical season. Quinn chewed her bottom lip and called Santana's number.
"I won't be able to make it," Quinn said hurriedly as she made her way towards the subway. "Boss called for an in-person meeting. Raincheck?"
For a beat, Santana was quiet that Quinn had to make sure she was still on the phone with her. "Hello? Are you still there?"
"That's fine, Quinn. Your career is important, after all."
"Thanks for understanding. I'll see you at home," Quinn said.
Just as she hung up, she heard a familiar voice before Santana hung up. Quinn paused in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at the blacked-out screen of her phone while around her, pedestrians wove their way around the obstacle of her body, shooting her annoyed looks.
It might just be that Quinn missed her, but the voice she heard definitely sounded like Rachel.
A week later, Quinn, back in her couch territory in her best friends' apartment. Santana came in after a long day of recording sessions. She kicked her boots off and had a look of surprise on her features when she saw Quinn on the couch. "Don't you usually work on Wednesdays?"
"I do, but not today. Boss has a meeting with the board of directors so she gave me the day off."
"And you're sitting here? Instead of – "
Quinn licked the back of her yogurt spoon. "Instead of what?"
"Rachel has Wednesdays off too, stupid. You're the one who told me that!"
She blinked once, twice. "Oh. Yeah."
Santana stood, shoulders squared, stance wide and imposing as she stared down at Quinn. "Well?"
As always, Santana had her brusque way of making Quinn feel inept and stupid – which was how she felt in general regarding this whole ordeal with Rachel, anyway. She did not have the courage to ask if Rachel still wanted to see her, or that their early autumn fling was just that – a fling, something that transpired because there was nothing better to do. It hurt her to think this way, but it was safer than to take a chance, to reach out to Rachel only to face rejection.
Quinn looked up and saw that Santana was typing away on her phone. "What are you doing?"
"Rachel's on her way here so I suggest you finish your self-pity party and at least look presentable."
The blonde's jaw dropped. "Y-you can't do that!"
"And why the fuck not? This is my apartment and I can invite whomever I want." Santana smirked.
Quinn sat back, crestfallen, so Santana sighed and sat down beside her. "Quinn, listen to me. Rachel wants to come over. She wants to see you. All this dread that you have, all these scenarios of her not wanting you anymore? That's all in your head." Santana patted Quinn's cheek as she sighed. "So, hurry up. Get dressed, unless you want her to see you this pathetic over her?"
Quinn scrambled to get into the shower and got dressed in a freshly-laundered sweater and sweatpants. There was no point in being dressy about it – it was still her day off, after all. Her heart raced when Santana buzzed Rachel in. It was only a matter of time until she appeared on the front step so Quinn paced while Santana sat on the couch, staring at her with a weary expression on her face.
Then, the soft knocks came. Quinn and Santana shared a look, where Santana wordlessly urged Quinn to open the door, but Quinn did not want to. Santana scowled and Quinn conceded. With shaky hands, she opened the door.
Rachel immediately threw her arms around Quinn. Their bodies met with such force that Quinn staggered back, like two magnets polarized into each other's embrace. Breath knocked out of her lungs. Quinn kicked the door shut with her arms still around Rachel. "Hi."
"Hi," Rachel mumbled against Quinn's chest. "Why didn't you tell me you have a day off? I would have came to see you the moment you woke up."
Quinn opened her mouth to speak, ready to admit the dark thoughts she had been having these past month since they parted ways at the airport. Instead, she sighed and burrowed her nose against Rachel's hair and breathed her in. "I know – I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd have the time to see me."
"Outside of work hours, I'd always make time for you." Rachel said, eyes full of earnest intensity. She glanced over at Santana who loomed in the living room space of the apartment. "Do you want to go on a walk?" Her voice dropped into a stage whisper. "I don't think Santana's going to give us privacy any time soon."
"I can hear you," the woman in question snarled.
Quinn laughed as she nodded. She grabbed her keys, her phone, and said goodbye to Santana who merely smirked and waved her hand as if shooing Quinn away. With Rachel's hand in hers – and it felt so small, so right, with their fingers laced together – they walked towards the nearby park. At present, it was empty for it was morning and the children were at school.
"I'm sorry," Quinn said again. "I haven't seen you in so long that I was convinced that you were done with me. That you would never want to see me again."
"I want to see you every single day if I could. I want you to be the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning, and the last before I close my eyes to sleep," Rachel said. "But I thought you wanted the space."
They occupied a park bench that overlooked the playground. It was mid-November now, and most of the trees had taken on a reddish golden hue. Fallen leaves carpeted the emerald lawns, and a frigid gust of wind blew Rachel and Quinn to sit closer together.
"I guess I don't really know what I want. I say I want the space but I want to be with you all the time."
"We can fix that," Rachel argued. "I'm not saying that we should be together every waking moment, but we can have a regular date night. I need you to understand that I want to be with you. I want my committed Quinn-time. Just say when and I'll make that time for you."
Quinn watched Rachel speak, and with every insistent word, Quinn had to wonder, what the hell was I thinking? It really was that easy. She wrapped her arm around Rachel's shoulders, pulled her close, and kissed her just as she paused from talking. "Okay."
Rachel's apartment was pristine as Quinn stepped inside. Theatre posters hung framed on the cream-coloured walls – not all posters were of Rachel's face. Quinn closely inspected the Funny Girl poster on the wall and gasped.
"That's an original poster from 1968?" Quinn whirled to face Rachel with a look of shock across her face.
"Sure is," Rachel grinned. "I found it in a box of rolled-up posters at the back of the theater, back when I was on off-Broadway."
"You stole it?"
"No! I resent that," Rachel threw her keys in a bowl and helped Quinn out of her jacket so she could hang it on the coatrack. "I asked the theatre manager if I could have it. If anything, he was relieved to have me take it off his hands. The other posters in the box weren't worth much, but I sold them off eBay. That's the only one that was worth anything to me. Would you like some water?"
"Please," Quinn nodded, and Rachel went into the kitchen. The blonde sat on the couch and admired the personality of the room. It was nothing like Rachel's bedroom back when they were teenagers, but the Broadway memorabilia were ever-present. And Quinn would not have it any other way.
Upon Rachel's return, she sat on the couch beside Quinn with a glass of water in hand. She drank from it in small mouthfuls, aware of Rachel's eyes trained on her. Quinn wiped her lips with the back of her mouth. "What?"
Without a word, Rachel took the glass of water from Quinn's hands. She set it on the coffee table. She leaned towards Quinn and kissed her. A shudder rippled through Quinn's body from the warmth of Rachel's lips, her body radiating with the heat she had longed for during her lonely nights laying on her friends' couch. Her arms wound around Rachel's waist and Quinn found herself pinned against the couch, Rachel's body on top of her.
And Quinn would not have it any other way.
Her beating heart, its pulse and thrum, attuned to Rachel's proximity. As did her soul. Quinn welcomed Rachel into her and she took to her as if magnetized. Rachel's heat became Quinn's heat, and Quinn's spit became Rachel's spit. They squirmed to the oblivion of pleasure that Quinn never wanted to back away from, ever again.
Sated, Rachel rested her cheek against the rhythmic pumping of Quinn's heart. She smiled, half-asleep and lazy, fingers tracing the textured skin of Quinn's stiff nipples.
"I wouldn't mind feeling that every single day," Quinn murmured against Rachel's hair.
"Yeah?" Rachel looked at her and grinned. Her face was like looking at the love in the eyes and twice as beautiful. "Me too."