Author's Note: Once upon a time, I had this grand notion to write a multi-chapter story to cover post canon Glee and that annoying five year time jump. This is not that story. That massive undertaking was just never going to happen with my temperamental Muse and my uncooperative schedule. But I did finally write up my headcanon in the form of a two-shot snapshot into the lives of future Rachel and Quinn with lots of exposition and a little introspection.
All mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or the characters. I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.
Loving by Halves
There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends.
I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.
~Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey
Part I: Friendship Is Certainly the Finest Balm
It's early. The sun has only just fully appeared over the tops of the mountains in the distance, and there's still a soft orange glow across the sky beneath the ever-brightening expanse of blue, whispering promises of a beautiful late summer day to come.
Rachel never wanders the streets of New York City at this time of the morning anymore. Too much is going on in her life these days and too many people actually recognize her on those streets for early morning strolls to hold the same appeal that they once did. Sometimes she misses the innocent wonder that she'd felt in those early days after she'd first arrived in the city at the tender age of seventeen, when just being there had sparked an energy in her blood that had forced her feet to move and her eyes to explore every nook and cranny and crevice of her new world. That wonder had followed her into her first apartment in Brooklyn where she'd eagerly set off on early morning coffee and bagel runs with Kurt, during which they'd turn down a different side street every day on the way back home just to see what was waiting at the end of it.
In retrospect, that probably hadn't been the wisest course of action for two kids from Ohio who were still green behind the ears, but they'd been too high on adrenaline and dreams of bright neon lights to think about the darker aspects of the city they now call home. These days, it's hard to even remember that wide-eyed wonder in the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Somewhere along the way, Rachel had forgotten how to slow down and enjoy the simple pleasure of greeting the new morning with a walk or a jog or a coffee at the corner shop, but something about being back in Lima makes her want to be outside for no other reason than to soak up the fresh air in the quiet community where she'd grown up.
It's not that she's fallen out of love with New York—far from it. It's still the same thrilling city filled with endless opportunities that it's always been, and she'll never again take for granted how lucky she is to be there and be living out her dreams. She's luckier than most, and she knows it. There'd been a time, after all—not so very long ago, really—when she'd believed that she'd never make it back there again, that she'd burned all her bridges and would be forever stuck in Lima, directing a high school show choir and bitterly reliving her glory days through every new generation of students. Not that the new New Directions hadn't been far superior with her at the helm, of course, but it hadn't been where she'd truly wanted to be. Still, she can afford to be fondly nostalgic about that period of her life now that it's firmly behind her, as well as this town in general, and that's one of the things that had pulled her out of bed so early this morning.
But only a small one.
She'd forgone the designer outfit and perfectly applied makeup that she's rarely caught out-and-about without these days, pulled her hair up into a sloppy ponytail that, along with her t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, makes her look ten years younger than she is, and stealthily slipped away from the hotel before the sun had barely kissed the horizon. She'd left the rental car behind—a sporty red Mazda convertible that hadn't been her first choice by any means—in favor of her own two feet and the extra time alone with her own thoughts. Anyone who might see her out walking would be more likely to recognize her as 'that Berry girl' with the two dads than as Rachel Berry, Tony-award-winning actress and current toast of Broadway.
She walks along Elm Street for a time before she detours down Lincoln Avenue to stop for a long moment in front of her old house, feeling a hard tug to her heart at the knowledge that she'll never again be able to walk through the door and sink into the familiarity of her childhood home. Every step away from the house takes her further into memories of her childhood, some good and others bad, until she eventually ends up on Woodlawn Avenue with a very particular destination in mind, taking a deep breath as she walks beneath the stone archway for the first time in five years.
Dozens of new monuments have sprung up in neat rows since the last time Rachel had been here, and her heart aches a little more with every step. It takes her a few moments longer to find the one she's looking for than it ever has in the past—time and the slightly altered landscape of the cemetery have left her a bit disoriented—but she'll never be able to forget this place completely.
Her fingers trail along the top of the cold marble, tracing the contours of the stone the way she can no longer trace the lines of his face. "Hi, Finn," she says softly, smiling wistfully down at his grave marker through the faint mist of familiar tears. "It's been a while, huh?"
He obviously doesn't answer her, and Rachel slowly lowers herself to the dew-covered grass, the slight chill of the moisture coating her denim covered knees. "You need a bit of a trim," she observes casually, pulling out some of the weeds that have sprung up around the base of his headstone. There aren't very many—the cemetery is regularly mowed—but it's clear from the slightly weathered bouquet standing askew in front of the stone that it's been several weeks since someone has been by to visit, and a tiny flicker of guilt works its way through her.
"I'm sorry it's been so long," she apologizes as she continues to distract herself with tidying up the landscaping. "The last five years have been…well, you probably already know," she murmurs in quiet consideration. Her faith isn't really big on the whole angels sitting on fluffy white clouds vision of heaven, but she finds some measure of comfort in the idea that Finn might be up there somewhere watching over all of the people he'd loved in life. "But you know how I've always loved to hear myself talk," she jokes, tossing a handful of grass away before settling more comfortably on the ground. "And you were always there to listen to me," she laughs a little then, "or pretend you were listening, anyway. Don't think I wasn't onto your tricks, Finn Hudson."
She can admit now that he hadn't always been the perfect partner, but that doesn't erase the hole that he'd left in her life, and she still misses him at the oddest moments. Missing him today isn't so odd though. She's back here in Lima—they're all back here—to rededicate their alma mater's auditorium in his memory. His name is forever etched into the brass plaque on the door—or, well, it will be as long as the school is still standing or until someone with more money and power comes along to have the auditorium rededicated again in someone else's name. Rachel plans to make certain that never happens in her lifetime.
It had been wonderful to see everyone again and even more so to have the chance to sing with them one more time on the same stage where everything had started, and while Finn's absence is still noticeable, that hole that he'd left in everyone's lives has been mostly filled with memories and love and friendships that, though wearing thin in a few places, will be with them all for the rest of their lives. But seeing everyone again had also tugged loose a few frayed strings at the edges of Rachel's bruised heart, and she thinks that maybe talking to Finn might help her to get them rethreaded. (Except for the ones that have gotten themselves tangled up in places that they really shouldn't be.)
"So let's see…the last time you saw me, I was saying goodbye," she recalls, hearing and feeling her voice catch on the words. She tries not to remember that the last time he'd really seen her, she hadn't actually said goodbye at all; she'd just snuck out of the hotel room while he'd still been asleep because she'd been thinking that she might have made a mistake by falling back into bed with him when they weren't even together anymore. That one, wistful glance back at his sleeping form in that darkened room is the last memory Rachel has of seeing Finn alive. He hadn't even visited her the one time he'd come to New York after that, but she's grateful that they'd had the chance to talk on the phone several times after that last inauspicious night and that their often tumultuous relationship had been in a mostly hopeful place before he died.
Rachel wipes a hand on her jeans before lifting it to brush away the moisture pooling beneath her eyes. "The whole NYADA thing worked out so much better the second time around, obviously," she assures him with a little laugh, dropping her hand into her lap where she begins to fiddle with her wedding ring. "And then, life just kind of…happened."
And boy, is that an understatement. She thinks of Mercedes's rise to stardom, Artie's award-winning documentary, Noah's promotion to Master Sergeant. She thinks of Kitty's move to New York and their unexpected friendship. She thinks of how much further she and Santana have drifted apart since her marriage to Brittany and the couple's move to Los Angeles. She thinks of her own marriage to Jesse, the baby girl that she'd so recently given birth to for Kurt and Blaine, the constant, empty ache that she feels inside of her now and how Quinn had tried to warn her about it. She thinks of Quinn—
"I've made so many mistakes," she whispers, voice breaking slightly over the admission. "You probably know that too."
With a sad sigh, Rachel shifts her position, attempting to get more comfortable on the cold, hard ground. "I mean, I threw away my chance at Funny Girl, Finn. Me!" she exclaims, pressing a hand to her chest. "But you know that too because I told you all about it when I came back to Lima. Of course, I think I blamed you at the time," she recalls in shame, smiling sadly at his headstone. "I told you that I wouldn't have done it if you'd still been here with me...that none of it felt right without you."
And that part had been true. Playing Fanny Brice had been the culmination of all her childhood dreams—all but one. Finn hadn't been there to share it with her. His absence hadn't seemed like a fair exchange for her success, and her grief had made it impossible for her to embrace her dream role with the enthusiasm that it deserved.
The timing of everything had just sucked, so when Mary had offered her the chance to escape into an idealized version of her life via television stardom, Rachel had stupidly taken it—and promptly blown that too.
"But that wasn't your fault."
It was all Rachel, making questionable decisions that she wishes she could say she's outgrown.
"I wasn't mature enough at the time to handle the demands of a Broadway career on top of my grief, but I'm not grieving anymore." She almost feels guilty for the admission, but she knows that Finn would understand. She's moved past the anguish of his loss even if she'll always miss him and wish he was still here.
"So what's my excuse for sabotaging my career this time around?" she asks with a frown. Sabotage is precisely how Jesse refers to most of the decisions she makes that he doesn't agree with. "I walked away from Jane Austen Sings! six months after it opened. " She smiles ruefully. "At least I won a Tony for it first. Technically after," she amends with a shrug, though it's only semantics. She'd taken her final bow as Jane at the end of March, before even the generous empire waists on her costumes had been unable to hide her growing baby bump. "I left the show because I was pregnant, but I got pregnant before the show even opened." She unconsciously presses a hand against her empty belly. "On purpose," she adds with a sad laugh. "And not with my husband's baby."
Even after all this time, she can perfectly picture the confused face that Finn would be wearing right now, and she laughs in earnest. "Sweet Barbra, my life has turned into some terribly written, semi-satirical sitcom."
"Still sounds better than your first attempt at one."
Rachel's entire body startles at the voice, and she presses a hand to her racing heart as she glares up at the unexpected intruder. As a matter of pride, she manages to gather her composure enough to form a somewhat witty retort. "How dare you disparage the finest twenty-two and half minutes of television to ever exist?"
Quinn's smoky laughter seems out of place in this setting, but it tickles Rachel's fancy anyway. It's such a rare delight to hear. "I have a bootleg copy, you know," Quinn reveals with a smirk before gracefully sinking down onto the grass next to Rachel. She's uncharacteristically wearing jeans today as well, though hers are black and stylish in a way that still makes her seem like the rising Hollywood starlet that she's become. "I'm saving it to sell to Access Hollywood after you're really famous."
Rachel rolls her eyes. "As if they'd pay money for it when they can just search 'Rachel Berry's Biggest Bomb' on YouTube." Quinn laughs again, and Rachel can't fault her for her amusement. The network is so ashamed of the one, single episode of That's So Rachel that they'd let air that they won't even admit they own it now by issuing a takedown order for copyright infringement. "What are you doing here?"
Quinn's laughter fades, and her smile turns wistful. "The same as you." She nods towards Finn's headstone. "It's been a while since I've been here, and I wanted to visit before I head back to LA."
Rachel nods in understanding. "You're flying out tonight?" she asks, already knowing it to be true. Quinn has to get back to shoot a guest spot on a television show—one that doesn't suck—before she goes on location for her next film. Her last one had premiered the same week as the Tony awards, keeping her away from New York for Rachel's big night, and while Quinn wasn't the lead, her prominent role has thrust her into the spotlight in a major way. Rachel is proud of her. A little envious too, but mostly proud.
"Yeah," Quinn confirms. "My flight's at six. Only marginally better than a true red-eye."
"I wish you were coming back to New York," comes out before Rachel can stop it.
The look Quinn gives her in response is borderline indecipherable, but Rachel thinks it's something akin to wistful wariness. She's seen it more than a few times in the last year.
They're trying this whole friendship thing again. It's only their third attempt—or is it the fourth?
Those train tickets that Quinn had bought them in high school had gone mostly unused. Rachel accepts her fair share of the blame for that, though she maintains that Quinn had also failed to put in very much effort to stay in touch beyond the purchase of those tickets. Their occasional emails in those first few months of college had grown shorter and more infrequent as time went on, and then after Finn died—well, she supposes neither one of them had been in the best state of mind.
Quinn has since confessed to feeling some measure of survivor's guilt on top of her own grief, so she'd kept her distance from Rachel because she hadn't known what to say to her. For Rachel, their rather convoluted history regarding Finn had made it difficult for her to even think of turning to Quinn for comfort, so she hadn't really minded the distance between them at first.
There'd been another round of promises to stay in touch after they'd reconnected during Rachel's brief tenure as McKinley's show choir director, but then Quinn had left for a semester abroad in London and ended up staying all summer. She'd really only come back to finish her final year at Yale before moving overseas after graduation to be with a photographer she'd fallen in love with.
A photographer named Daisy.
Needless to say, Rachel had been completely blindsided by that particular development, despite having known about Quinn's one time thing with Santana. (The way she'd found out about that—as a taunt from Santana about how little Rachel actually cared to know her so-called friends—still rankles her in ways that she'd rather not dwell on.)
Quinn's relationship with Daisy had eventually ended, thank Barbra, but Quinn's time overseas and her subsequent move to Los Angeles had effectively ruined Rachel's second attempt at maintaining a closer friendship with her.
They're doing so much better at it this time around.
Quinn runs the tip of her tongue across her lips, and it looks to Rachel like she doesn't quite know how to respond to what should be an innocent comment but isn't quite. The last time Quinn had stayed in New York for any significant period of time had been during the shooting of her last film, and things had gotten complicated.
Kurt and Blaine had been ready to move forward with their plans to start a family, Quinn had been in a relationship with another woman that she'd been desperate to keep from caving under the stress of temporary distance and her rising stardom, and Rachel and Jesse had been fighting about the script and the songs and just about every creative decision having to do Jane Austen Sings!
(If Rachel occasionally finds her husband to be pompous and condescending as a fellow actor, she's discovered that dealing with him as her director is infinitely worse.)
It had been a perfect storm of opportunity and half-assed promises made when they'd been younger, and now they're all dealing with the fallout—some of them more than others.
"I have obligations in LA," is what Quinn finally says, "but," she draws in a thready breath, purposely glancing away, "I might end up back on the east coast next year if certain things pan out." She shrugs. "At least for a little while."
Rachel really shouldn't feel so hopeful about the prospect of having Quinn living closer once again, but she can't seem to help herself. "Grace would be lucky to have you nearby." And not just Grace, she silently thinks.
"Rachel," Quinn warns, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "We've talked about this."
"I know," Rachel is quick to say. "You didn't want to get attached, but Quinn...you know that you already are." Almost as attached as Rachel is.
"And who's fault is that?" she snaps, and Rachel winces noticeably enough that remorse instantly colors Quinn's face. "I'm sorry." She sighs, gazing up at the sky to avoid looking in Rachel's eyes. "I shouldn't blame you for my own weakness."
Rachel shakes her head, fully accepting that it was her weaknesses that had put them both in this position. "It's not a weakness to love her, Quinn, but," she pauses, moistening her lips, "you have every right to blame me." It's so hard for her to even say because she hates it when Quinn is upset with her. "I hijacked your good deed."
Quinn's gaze flies back to her, flashing with censure. "You did something incredibly selfless for your best friends, despite knowing how hard it would be." She shrugs, a faint smile pulling at one side of her lips. "All I did was donate an egg."
"That you thought would be carried by some nameless, faceless surrogate whose pregnancy you'd never have to see or know anything about," Rachel supplies, recalling in vivid detail the very words that Quinn had used to explain why she'd ultimately agreed to honor the careless offer that she'd made to Kurt and Blaine before she'd even turned twenty. "I ruined that for you."
She'd ruined it in so many ways. She hadn't been able to let Quinn one-up her in the friendship department, driven by some combination of their old (friendly) rivalry and a strange, new need for a continued connection that was so much more confusing, so Rachel had been bound and determined to honor her own youthful (though admittedly short-sighted) promise to Kurt to help him become a father the way Shelby had helped her dads. And then she'd gone and dragged Quinn even further into the pregnancy by calling her to ask questions about every little mood swing and craving and flutter. Quinn had been the only person she could think to ask and would have been even if Rachel's brain (and heart) hadn't kept insisting that it was Quinn's baby too. It's not like Rachel has that kind of relationship with Shelby, even if they do actually talk now from time to time, and Quinn is the only one in her friend group—well, other than Rachel now—who's given birth!
Quinn chuckles darkly. "I ruined it for myself, Rachel." Her eyes fall closed, and the expression on her face screams of emotional turmoil. "I honestly thought it'd be like giving blood. That as long as it all happened outside of my body it wouldn't concern me." She exhales on a ragged breath before her eyes open again. "It wouldn't have mattered who gave birth to her or where or when, I would have been lost the moment I saw her."
Rachel can't help smiling at that. "She is pretty much perfect." The most beautiful baby that Rachel has ever laid eyes on.
"Yeah, she is," Quinn agrees softly. "But she isn't mine, Rachel."
Rachel's smile disappears. "I know that...and I know that she isn't mine either," she's quick to add, because she knows that's where this conversation is going. It's where it always goes whenever she talks about Grace with Quinn or Kurt or Blaine or Jesse. She's all too aware of that fact and has been reminded of it both gently and firmly on repeated occasions in the last two months since she'd given birth. "But she's," her voice crackles, fracturing under the weight of her tumultuous emotions, "she's here because of us, Quinn, and Kurt and Blaine want us both to be part of her life." Maybe not in the way that Rachel's heart yearns to be, but she'll take everything that they'll give her and, lord help her, she's trying.
"And we will be," Quinn promises with a sad smile, leaning over to bump Rachel's shoulder with her own in an age old sign of comradery. "We'll be the best aunts ever."
Rachel's heart twists at the title, and she tries so hard to smile and nod her agreement, but she doesn't think her muscles are cooperating. A sob tears its way out of her chest instead, and she presses a fist to her mouth, shaking her head. "I...I feel like I'm her mother," she rasps brokenly, her body curling in on itself.
She's distantly aware of a pair of arms sliding around her, and then she's tipping sideways into Quinn's solid frame before she falls apart completely. "Shhh. I know you do, sweetie," Quinn coos tenderly, stroking Rachel's hair.
It's too much and not enough, and Rachel presses her face into Quinn's shoulder and just cries. Quinn had warned her—begged her really—to think long and hard about what she was agreeing to do, what she'd be giving up. Rachel had been certain she could handle it. Grace isn't even related to her genetically. She'd been certain that would make all the difference, that simply being pregnant wouldn't make her a mother and the whole ordeal was merely a temporary role she'd be playing for nine months before moving on to her true role of devoted aunt. But feeling that little life grow beneath her heart had changed her forever, and no one but Quinn can really understand how.
Every day, there's a gnawing ache in her chest and an unanswered need in her arms to feel Grace's precious weight, and every night, she sleeps in fits and starts, waiting to hear the cry of a baby that isn't there. Every morning at four o'clock, she locks herself in the bathroom to pump her breast milk for Grace because her body is still primed for motherhood with no other outlet. (The look of disgust on Jesse's face the first time she'd tried it out in the open keeps her hidden away like it's some dirty, little secret.)
"You told me this would happen," she whispers tearfully. "That I'd feel like a part of me is missing."
There's a ragged sigh from Quinn. "I did, but I knew it wouldn't stop you." There's a heavy pause before a very quiet, "It never does."
The truth of that does nothing but add to Rachel's misery. She's ignored so much of Quinn's advice over the years, but, "You haven't said I told you so until now," she notes with no small measure of despair.
"Technically, I didn't say it. You did." And there's the faintest trace of humor in her voice.
Rachel untangles herself from Quinn's embrace, hastily wiping at the moisture beneath her eyes with trembling fingers. "Does this feeling ever go away?"
The pain that flashes in Quinn's eyes is probably enough of an answer, but, of course, she offers a verbal one anyway—and not one that Rachel wants to hear. "You'll always feel like you're her mother," Quinn tells her gently, springing a fresh pool of tears in Rachel's eyes. "But not being her mom won't always hurt the way it does right now. And you're lucky, Rachel, because you get to be a part of her life from the beginning and help her grow into the amazing person she's going to become and know that you helped make that happen."
They both know it's more than Quinn has been able to do with Beth.
"You don't think it would be easier if I was three thousand miles away so I could distance myself from her?"
Quinn frowns. "It's different for me. I didn't carry her. I don't," she trails off, looking lost in a way that she hasn't for a long time. "I don't feel connected to her in the same way I do with Beth." She shrugs helplessly. "In that way, being three thousand miles away from Grace does make it easier to only think of her as Kurt and Blaine's daughter." She glances at Rachel with sympathy. "I don't think that would work for you."
"Jesse seems to think it would," she mutters, wiping at her eyes again. One of his brilliant ideas to help Rachel get over all of her postpartum issues is for them to relocate to London for a while, try their hand at the West End to distract her from the Anderson-Hummel family in New York. (He very purposely hasn't mentioned relocating to Los Angeles.) "That, or knocking me up again so I'll have a new baby to focus on."
"Tell me you're not pregnant again," Quinn demands, sounding almost horrified by the idea.
"God, no," Rachel assures her, clutching at her almost-but-not-quite-flat-again belly. "I'm nowhere near ready for that." Right now, she can't even begin to imagine when or if she ever could be. It would be impossible to replace Grace so easily. It's one of the many things that she and her husband don't see eye to eye on right now, though truthfully, she sometimes feels like Jesse is pushing for a baby of their own more to soothe his pride and regain her full attention than because he actually wants to be a father.
"No, you're not," Quinn agrees. "Not until you've made peace with your role in Grace's life."
And that's a thing that Rachel isn't sure she'll ever truly be able to do, but—
"It seems like you have."
Quinn sighs, leaning back with her palms braced flat on the grass behind her. "For the most part." She sends a rueful smile in Rachel's direction. "I do have some prior experience after all." She's been on the fringes of Beth's life for years, grateful for the small pieces that Shelby allows her. Kurt and Blaine have already indicated that they'll allow her a little more with Grace if she wants it. "But it took me years to get here, Rachel. And I'm still...struggling with all of this."
"Am I making it harder for you?" Rachel asks fearfully.
Quinn laughs at that, though it's not exactly a happy sound. "When don't you?"
Rachel feels like crying again. "I'm sorry," she whispers. Quinn has become her touchstone through all of this, and she can't bear the possibility of losing her now.
Quinn sits up straight again, reaching for Rachel's hand. "Hey, don't be sorry. I'm here for you when you need to talk about these things. I mean, we're kind of in this together."
Rachel squeezes her hand gratefully, relief thrumming through her, before she looks away in guilt. "Jesse hates it when I talk to you."
Quinn scowls. "Jesse can go," she cuts herself off with a growl, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. He's your husband. I know this situation hasn't exactly been a picnic for him either."
"No, it definitely hasn't."
They'd been married for less than a year when Rachel had simply announced that she was going to carry a baby for two other men. She and Jesse had been happy to put off any discussion of starting their own family until well after Rachel had (re)established her career, and they'd been busily working to bring Jane Austen Sings!, and therefore Rachel, to a Broadway stage.
(For some reason, no one had wanted to cast her after she'd walked out on Funny Girl, flopped hard in That's So Rachel, and then turned down the female lead in The Scenario in favor of returning to NYADA. Jesse is always quick to remind her that both he and his leading lady had won a Tony for that show and that it could have been her.)
Jesse had been livid at her decision. He'd told her that she couldn't do it—that it wasn't fair to him or their marriage and that it would ruin their show and any chance of her rebuilding her career—but of course, that had only made her more determined to do it and prove him wrong. (That and her inexplicable inability to allow some stranger to carry Quinn's baby for Kurt and Blaine.) Eventually, he'd caved into her stubborn insistence rather than risk ending their marriage, and he'd even made a valiant attempt to be supportive and encouraging, though there'd been an inescapable undercurrent of resentment in most of his endeavors. Jesse had spent her entire pregnancy impatient for that little detour in their lives to be over, and now that Grace has been born, he thinks that Rachel should just be able to get back to work and to their marriage like nothing has changed when, for Rachel, almost everything has.
"Give it time. It'll get better," Quinn encourages, and Rachel silently wonders if she's somehow read her thoughts—or perhaps just the expression on her face. After all, Quinn is aware that the pregnancy has caused more than a little tension between Rachel and Jesse, and she knows that they'd had a few issues even before that over the show. That had been one of the reasons that Rachel hadn't thought twice about signing on as a surrogate when she had. She'd hated Jesse's vision for Jane Austen Sings!—the way he'd disregarded her every suggestion and cut all her favorite songs—and the pregnancy had been a perfect excuse to get out of extending her contract past the requisite six months if the show turned out to be a hit.
It had been a hit.
Rachel takes full credit for that and fully deserves her Tony, thank you very much, since the show itself could have been so much better.
So could her marriage.
Rachel's gaze moves away from the soft, familiar contours of Quinn's face to trace over the carved lines of Finn's name in the cold, hard stone. "I hope so," she murmurs quietly. Her current unease over everything is one of the things that had brought her here this morning, hoping to talk out all of her confused feelings with Finn. It's probably somewhat fitting that she'd end up talking to Quinn instead, but there are certain thoughts that she can't bring herself to voice out loud precisely because Quinn is sitting next to her.
The truth is that Quinn is directly responsible for a few of her confused feelings right now and has been for longer than Rachel cares to admit.
What she can admit is that losing Finn when she had, in the way she had, had broken her for a time. She'd been so certain that he'd be the person she would end up spending the rest of her life with, and she couldn't see herself loving anyone else in that way for the longest time after he'd died. But eventually—as tends to happen with grief—she'd healed enough to feel hopeful for the future, if not exactly whole. She'd been ready to move on and take back her life, ready to go back to New York, ready to open herself up to love again, and as Fate would have it, Jesse had reappeared in her life at exactly that moment like a sign from above, still handsome and charming, still clearly interested in her. Oh, she'd had a brief dalliance with Samuel while she'd been living in Lima again. He'd been so solid and easy to lean on, so much like Finn, but in the end, that's exactly why it couldn't have worked.
But Jesse is Finn's opposite in so many ways—the very ways that make him a perfect match for Rachel. They have the same interests, the same talents (though her talent is obviously superior), the same dreams, and the same ambition. Even so, Rachel had been very careful not to jump right back into his arms the moment she returned to New York. She'd fucked everything up so spectacularly the first time she'd lived there, letting her romantic drama with Finn and then Brody (and Finn again) distract her from school and friendships and her career. She'd been determined not to make the same mistakes again, determined to focus on honing her craft and learning theatre from the ground up and rebuilding the many bridges that she'd all but burned with the people who matter most to her.
Quinn had been one of those people, and they'd managed to stay in touch through those first months that Quinn had studied in London, though Rachel hadn't found out about Daisy until after she'd come home. Quinn had wanted to tell her in person, which she'd done before promptly heading back to school in New Haven, leaving Rachel reeling from the double bombshells that Quinn was in love with a woman and had apparently been attracted to them for quite a while before meeting Daisy.
Rachel herself had been technically single at the time. She'd been seeing Jesse casually, getting to know him and, more importantly, trust him again, but they'd both agreed to keep their options open. Jesse had been busy in workshops and then rehearsals for The Scenario, and Rachel had been focused on her classes, so they really hadn't had much time for each other in those early months anyway.
It ended up being a good thing, because finding out that Quinn was attracted to women had sent Rachel's mind (and certain other parts of her) crashing into places that she'd never let herself venture before, and she'd started questioning every single interaction they'd ever had back in high school.
She doesn't think Jesse would have appreciated her mild obsession with picking apart her past with Quinn had he been fully present for every moment of it. (He certainly doesn't appreciate their renewed friendship now.)
In the end, whatever realizations that Rachel had come to hadn't mattered anyway, because Quinn had been happy and in love and planning to uproot her entire life and leave behind all of her friends to move to London to be with Daisy.
By the time Quinn had been single again and back in the states, Rachel had been dating Jesse in earnest, in love again and on the verge of getting engaged.
She hadn't seen Quinn again in person until her wedding day.
Quinn had a new love of her own by then, a woman named Tasha, though she hadn't brought her to Rachel's wedding. Thanks to the nature of Quinn's career in Hollywood and on the advice of her agent and publicist, everyone in the world who is not a close, personal friend to Quinn Fabray thinks that Tasha is (or was now, Rachel supposes) only one of many other close, personal friends to Quinn Fabray.
The relationship had ended six months ago. Quinn claims it crumbled under the pressure of keeping their romance hidden, but Rachel strongly suspects that Quinn's decision to donate her eggs to Kurt and Blaine coupled with the numerous and frequent pregnancy related phone calls from Rachel that Quinn had been kind enough to answer had contributed to the couple's issues.
It's certainly contributed to her own issues with Jesse.
But Rachel can't bring herself to dive too deeply into those issues with Quinn. It's a dangerous road for her to travel when she feels closer to Quinn than she ever has and only one small part of that comes from their shared connection to Grace. Rachel is a married woman, and despite their current problems, she does love her husband. She's been ignoring those tiny whispers of how much and what if for a long time now; the ones that occasionally wonder what might have happened if Quinn had come out to her before she'd met Daisy.
Jesse isn't a consolation prize by any means. He's the natural progression of Rachel's romantic life after losing Finn. But Quinn has always been on the outskirts of her life in the wrong places at the right times, and it can't be anything else while Rachel is still trying to fix everything that's wrong with her marriage.
"I should probably head back to the hotel," Rachel says, returning her gaze to Quinn, who's apparently been studying her profile while she's been lost in her own thoughts. "Let you have your visit with Finn before you have to leave." Her walk here had taken the better part of an hour, meandering as she had been, and it won't be a quick jog back. Jesse is probably wondering where she is despite the note she'd left, and she's almost certain that he won't be happy that she'd come to the cemetery without him.
"I've still got a few hours. Besides," Quinn nods towards the headstone, "I don't think he minds us sharing this time with him."
"No, I don't suppose he does," Rachel agrees wistfully. Finn had loved them both, and if he is up there watching over them, he's probably smiling at the sight of them sitting here together. She's not entirely sure what he'd think of everything else that they've been up to in these last few years, but the one thing she does know is that Finn had wanted them all to always be in each other's lives. Rachel has managed to ensure that with Quinn and Kurt and Blaine in spades.
"I meant what I said, you know," Quinn says, giving her a soft, meaningful look. "I'm here for you, whenever you need to talk."
"I know." Rachel reaches over to cover Quinn's hand where it rests between them on the grass, giving it a grateful squeeze. "I appreciate that more than you can know."
"You'd do the same for me." And there's a weight to the words, an odd sort of pull between them born of shared history and unspoken sentiment. Rachel has become all too familiar with it lately, and it's so much more potent when they're close enough to touch. That touch disappears with a roll of hazel eyes and a self-deprecating grin. "And you have. Many times."
The sudden levity does nothing to dislodge the lump from Rachel's throat. "That's what friends do." It's a reminder to herself as well as a promise.
Quinn's grin turns teasing. "Look at us. Finally getting this friend thing right."
And if that word doesn't exactly feel quite right to Rachel anymore, it's not something that Quinn ever needs to know.