Title: Somewhere a Clock is Ticking
Pairing: Quinn/Rachel, Rachel/Santana (Friendship)
Synopsis: Quinn finds herself jealous and confused when her former best friend becomes Rachel Berry's protector and confidante.
A/N: So, I'm going to be working on this fic the same time as "In the Broken Night, Set Against the Sky" so I've yet to actually decide if I'm going to write all of this out before publishing it or not, but it's going to be a 13 chapter story with a similar set-up to the one I've used in my other stories. If I do get too impatient to wait to finish the story before publishing the chapters, please be patient with me on updating both - I spend about six hours on each chapter I write in each story, so I might stagger each story every-other-day but I may try to keep up a 2-chapter-a-day pace. Lyrics will be from "Somewhere a Clock is Ticking" by Snow Patrol, one of my personal favorites by the band. Anyway, here's hoping you enjoy! (Thanks to HappyLaura for spotting my grammatical errors, lol, I really appreciate it. xoxox)
##
Chapter 1: This Feeling
I've got this feeling there's something that I've missed...
###
Either Quinn Fabray had woken up in some bizzaro world or things were wrong in a very big way. It was as if everything was going very, very, slow, and Santana was swimming through the air like in some big action flick starring Tom Cruise, a familiar snarl on her face as she tackled Karofsky to the ground.
"You better watch it, Karofsky!" Santana was flying and everything was speeding back up to regular-time, the Latina throwing fists and colliding into a very confused Karofsky. "If I have to tell you one more time not to slushie Berry, you're going to be in a body cast!"
It was loud, and Quinn was pretty sure that was the ocean rushing in her ears, because Santana was angry that Karofsky had slushied Rachel. Rachel Berry. Everything in her brain was quite confused and Quinn thought maybe she'd banged her head against a particularly hard wall that morning and forgotten about it. The blonde looked around, as if searching for cameras or a clue that this was some sick joke.
Santana was defending Rachel. Rachel. Good God, maybe Quinn had lost it. Maybe Santana had lost it. Maybe Brittany had put Santana up to it. The taller Cheerio was quite sweet and didn't seem to care about social status, so maybe that was it.
"You freak! Get off me!" Karofsky tried to shove Santana off but she was all fists and Latin fury, a raging bull charging at the sight of a red flag.
"Whoa, whoa!" Sue Sylvester's voice boomed down the hall, "As much I appreciate a gladitorial display of female fury," Quinn could hear the familiar buzz of Sue's megaphone as she cut off transmission. The crowd gathered around the fight parted in fear, "I'm not allowed to encourage this kind of behavior between students, although I wouldn't mind breaking the rules if one William Schuester was the target of this particular attack." She was still shouting into the microphone even as she stood feet away from Quinn.
The ex-Cheerio flinched away from the loud buzz of the megaphone and clutched her books confusedly to her chest. Rachel was still standing on the other side of the hall in shock, wiping grape slushie from her eyes and sputtering. One of the taller football players had wrapped an arm around Santana's waist and was pulling her back - not without great effort - and the Latina was still shouting curses in Spanish as she was detained by another two football players. Brittany was standing close beside Rachel, watching with trepidation, and her hand rested on Rachel's shoulder.
The Cheerios were defending Rachel. Quinn again tried blinking away the scene before her, the impossibilities. True, Rachel and Santana had been seen striding down the hall together, talking, but Santana had always been the first to put Rachel down when Quinn was still a Cheerio. Now the HBIC had nothing to do with her, and apparently had become the new vigilante for McKinley's trampled youth.
"Karofsky! My office, pronto, before I shove that weirdly shaped skull and those beady little eyes of yours into Schuester's hair gel and make you recite the alphabet backwards!" Sue boomed through the megaphone, causing Quinn to jump again, and sidle away from the coach. Quinn watched Karofsky skulk away, Coach Sylvester barking orders at his back as he held his right eye socket. Santana had apparently landed a punch.
Santana was struggling against a football player's arm and apparently sank teeth into his hand because Quinn saw an arm fly away in surprise, just long enough for Santana to launch forward and shove the other football player back, "Get off me, you pigs!" Santana barked and flew past Quinn, joining both Brittany and Rachel, looping a tan arm around Rachel and guiding her down the hall, shoving people out of the way and sometimes a glare was enough to send someone's papers flying in fear as they darted away. Nobody wanted to mess with Lopez when she was that pissed off. What Quinn was absolutely horrified and confused about was why in the hell she was that pissed off in Rachel's defense. Her stomach twisted as she faltered, considered following them into the bathroom and asking what the hell all that was about, but since none of the three girls now gathered in the girls' bathroom liked Quinn very much, it just didn't seem like a good idea when Quinn was seeing red. Nonetheless, curiosity was too much and Quinn found herself standing outside the door, hovering, listening for any sign that it was some weird joke.
"Tip your head back," Santana was saying, although Quinn could barely hear through the door. She heard a rushing of water and assumed Rachel was being assisted with getting slushie out of her hair. Quinn swallowed, felt slightly sick. "I can't believe him. My cousins already drove by his house once and busted out a window - "
"Santana! It's not necessary to perpetuate such violence in my defense. Before our .. friendship, I was quite content holding my head high and I don't like the idea of charges being pressed because you feel the need to watch over me now," Rachel's voice bubbled from the other side of the door, hidden behind the sound of the faucet running.
Brittany joined in, "Santana's like some kind of Amazon. And now that you're one of us," Quinn frowned at that. One of them? What did she mean? Brittany continued on, unaware of the eavesdropping ex-Cheerio on the other side, "Santana will protect you. Like the time she beat up Jacob Ben Isreal for vlogging about our special spot behind the bleachers."
None of this was making any sense. Quinn swallowed, felt her stomach churning, "I've died and gone to hell, this makes no sense. God, I should've listened to my mother when she was preaching to me about abstinence. I'm in hell now," she mumbled to herself, deciding she'd heard enough to confuse her for the day and pushed away from the door. Books clutched to her chest, she turned her gaze back just in time to see Rachel coming out of the restroom, looking a little disoriented, and brown eyes caught hazel just for a second before Quinn found herself turning away and walking faster.
###
Lunch time made the whole situation far worse than it had been that morning. Quinn watched in horror, from her spot alone in the corner of the lunchroom, as Santana and Brittany made a bee-line for the Glee table. Instead of sitting with their fellow Cheerios, they sat beside a smiling Rachel Berry, and Santana apparently was too hilarious for Rachel not to laugh every five seconds. It made Quinn feel ill all over again. This had to be some kind of joke. She'd been insisting that to herself all day. She hadn't had any friends, even in the Glee club, since they'd returned from winter break. She'd alienated herself from both the popular crowd and the Glee club, unintentionally, during her pregnancy and then to her return to bitch-mode afterward. Quinn set her spoon down, and as she looked down at her jello, she suddenly felt a wash of nausea. She didn't know why, particularly, just that it had started this morning. Silently, she rose and tossed her food into a garbage bin, folded her arms over her stomach and tucked her chin to her chest. The ex-Cheerio walked as fast as she could, a little extra speed in her step as she heard Santana's voice near her, with Rachel's voice following in amusement.
Rachel Berry had friends. Rachel Berry had her friends. Or at least, friends that were once hers. Rachel Berry had more friends than Quinn right now. Something was very wrong with this. She felt a hand at her shoulder and glanced back, "Hands off me," she had assumed it was some jock trying to cop a feel, but as she swung around she almost stumbled back in shock as she saw Rachel standing there, looking apprehensive and upset. "What do you want, Berry?" Quinn's tone was harsh and Rachel visibly flinched under Quinn's sharp gaze. Good, Quinn thought, at least some things were still normal. A fist clenched at her side, she swallowed and fought against the nausea washing against her in waves.
"You look particularly uhm ... " Rachel hesitated.
Quinn's eyes flashed up to Santana, who was approaching slowly, like a cat about to pounce on its victim, "Spit it out, Berry!"
"Watch your tone!" Santana shoved Quinn's shoulder back sharply.
Quinn's eyes narrowed and she slapped away Santana's hand, "Don't touch me, Lopez!"
"You look ill today, as if you're not feeling so well," Rachel mumbled from between them, looking demure as she folded her hands carefully in one another and her dark brown eyes darted to the floor.
Quinn's anger deflated into confusion, "What's it to you?"
"I swear to God, Quinn," Santana stepped forward, but was stilled as Rachel reached an arm back and gently pressed against Santana's stomach.
"Don't. I told you, I don't want you continuing such a violent streak. Quinn is merely posing a question," Rachel lifted her chin and sized Quinn up, and Quinn had to do her best not to sink under Rachel's softening gaze, "I'm merely pointing out you look as if you don't feel very well, and I suggest maybe going to the nurse? I'm quite sure the last time you were ill, you had mono, and - "
"I just feel sick from looking at," Quinn waved her hand, flailed it between Rachel and Santana, "whatever the hell kind of joke this is, Berry."
"You're just jealous because she has friends and you have nobody, you ridiculous piece of - "
"Santana!" Rachel barked, glared, and huffed.
Quinn couldn't take anymore. She wheeled around and ignored the angry tears stinging her eyes as she ran. She kept running until she was panting breathlessly in the girls' bathroom stall. It was all too much, too weird, and for some reason it was making Quinn feel sick to her stomach. Her former best friend was all of a sudden a raging bull in defense of someone they'd mutually agreed they despised, someone short and irritating and completely obnoxious. A wave of nausea hit, and Quinn felt her stomach heave. She hated getting sick, but here she was, doing just that. She spent the rest of lunch cleaning that horrible taste out of her mouth and sucking on mints to soothe her apparently very upset stomach. The blonde appraised her reflection, searching her own eyes as if she were looking into those of a stranger. She looked at her reflection in disgust, and found herself driving a hand against the glass of the mirror. "I am a piece of shit," Quinn snarled at the broken shards and ignoring the fact her knuckles were bleeding. "Pregnant at 16, abandoning my daughter to someone I don't even know, torturing people I shouldn't even acknowledge, now getting sick over this stupid ... " Her voice trailed off. The venom in her voice was clear. She continued mumbling insults against herself until she heard the door swing open. She had half a mind to ignore it, until she saw a hesitant Rachel standing in the doorway, hands tucked in front of her, brows knit in concern. Stupid Rachel, always sticking her nose in where it didn't belong. "Get out, RuPaul!" Quinn all but shouted, "Get out, get out! God! Can't I have one moment alone?"
Rachel didn't move, only flinched at the harshness flying out of Quinn's mouth.
"What did I say?" Quinn's voice raised in volume and she momentarily forgot that she was bleeding and by all definitions injured. Her anger continued to grow as Rachel only stepped forward, and Quinn faltered backward, fumbling against the sink and finding no way out as Rachel stared up at her. Brown eyes dropped to her injured hand, and Rachel's small, soft hand reached out to find Quinn's injured one. The diva was gentle, and as Quinn registered that Rachel was touching her, she yanked her hand away, "Don't touch me," she emphasized each word.
Rachel still didn't say a damn word and it was infuriating. Quinn was angry, beyond angry.
"Where's your pitbull, freak?" She bit out.
"I told Santana to remain in the lunch-room." Rachel seemed unaffected by Quinn's insults and harsh tone, and it was only making Quinn's temper worse. As Quinn tried to pull away her hand a second time, Rachel only kept a firm grip, "would you just stop for one second, Quinn Fabray? I realize we're far from friends but I don't hate you and you're bleeding, and for goodness' sake you need to just stop yelling at me for one moment so I can clean this up."
Quinn faltered. Nausea hit her again, confusion, and a vague sense of unease, "Have I died and gone to hell? I mean first Santana acting like a raging bull in your defense and now you're standing here scolding me for not standing still but forgive me for being fucking confused right now." She fought the urge to pull her hand away again as she saw Rachel bite her lip in concentration and begin dabbing away the blood at Quinn's knuckles.
"You're impossible, and cruel, and I rather think you need to go to etiquette classes," Rachel stated simply, and Quinn ignored the fact that Rachel's hands were really soft and she was being excrutiatingly gentle. "But you're also in pain, bleeding, and alone."
"Spare me the psychoanalysis, Berry, and hurry up."
"You're much like an injured bear when you're upset and confused," Rachel mused thoughtfully as she continued dabbing at the wounds, before she broke away and unhitched the latch at the first-aid kit mounted on the wall. She fished around for a moment, leaning up on her tip-toes, and returned to Quinn with gauze. "Hold this," she demanded softly and Quinn knew she should've said no, but instead she held a finger down at the edge of the gauze as Rachel slowly and tightly wrapped it around the wound. "I don't have disinfectant, at least I didn't see any in there, so you'll need to monitor this closely so it doesn't get infected."
Quinn mumbled, "Nobody gives a damn." She hadn't meant it in any particular way, but the way Rachel had stopped and was now looking at her with absolute pain in her eyes, Quinn felt herself shrink away from the gaze and instead focused on studying the shards of glass in the sink beside her.
"That is very much a lie," Rachel's voice was painfully quiet. "If you believe that, you're less intelligent than Finn, and that's saying something."
Quinn flinched, "Whatever. Are you done?" She willed the venom back into her voice as she felt Rachel finish wrapping her hand and secure the gauze.
"Yes." Rachel turned, quietly, and began cleaning up the shards of glass. "Either you'll leave first or I will, but as we're finished here I assume you're going to walk out while trying to say something scathing directed at me."
"Jesus, do you ever stop talking?" Quinn rolled her eyes and began to move past Rachel, when she felt a hand on her elbow. She didn't look in Rachel's direction, only stopped, froze, as if Rachel's touch was made of ice. She pulled her elbow away, ignoring the fact Rachel's expression contorted in her periforal vision.
"Santana's just looking out for me. I'm worried about you," Rachel's voice was so soft and so damn caring that it made Quinn flinch. She felt like she'd been struck, and swallowed. Her heart hammered defiantly.
"Why? I don't give a damn about anyone else so why should anyone give a damn about me?" Quinn snapped, closed her eyes.
"Because you cannot control how others regard you, no matter how hard you try to hide. You're a liar, Quinn, not an actress. If you were, you wouldn't be a very good one. Anyone can see you're in pain most of the time."
"Get a fucking degree in psychology and leave me alone," Quinn finished finally, throwing daggers over her shoulder in Rachel's direction and ignoring the earnest expression in her eyes. She pushed open the bathroom door and for the second time that day, found herself running down the hallway. Confusion painted her features as she glanced in the direction she'd come from, afraid to see Rachel there. Apparently, being alone was not in the cards today, because she made it to her locker only to find Santana standing there with a scowl on her face. "Christ, are you serious right now?" She felt like crying, she was so frustrated. "Leave me the hell alone, Santana," she mumbled and opened her locker, gathering her books for the last half of the day.
"How about you stop being a bitch for once and pay attention?"
"Pay attention to what? You trying to get Rachel's virginity?"
"Listen," Santana snarled and slammed Quinn's locker shut, shoving two fingers hard against Quinn's shoulder, "I'm telling you to stop being such a bitch for once and open your eyes. Or did giving up that kid of yours leave you completely heartless?"
Quinn's stomach dropped, her heart broke, and she was pretty sure she stopped breathing, "How," she gasped out the words, felt her senses strangled by rage, "dare you. Don't you ever bring that up, you have no right, no right at all!" Quinn shoved Santana against a locker, watched as students started to gather around. Two fights in one day was too much excitement for them.
"Oh really? Just like you have a right to treat everyone else like shit? I'm sorry if I don't kiss your feet but I don't think you have any right to target anyone for being lesser than you. And you wonder why we aren't friends," Santana shoved Quinn back, and before Quinn knew it they were being wrestled apart by Mr. Schuester.
It was all blurry, all confusing, and Quinn didn't like any of it. As she felt a pair of hands encircle her waist and pull her back, she realized she was leaning against someone shorter than her and the patch job Rachel had done on her hand was ruined, her books were splayed on the floor beside her, and the moment she realized Rachel was the one pulling her back from Santana, she wheeled around, shoved the diva backward, "Everyone needs to leave me alone!"
And they did, for the most part. Quinn stumbled into the nurse's office, feeling confused and numb. Her hand hurt, because at some point when the gauze came off, her hand had connected with Santana's face. Santana had shaken off the blow and answered with one of her own, and Quinn's head was throbbing. She nodded dumbly as the nurse asked her if she needed to lay down, and gratefully closed her eyes as the curtain made a quiet shinkshinkshink as it was dragged shut along the length of the pole above the bed. Quinn breathed in the silence, examined her feelings on this very strange day.
She knew a few things at the moment, but only a few. Santana, Brittany, and Rachel were all friends because of something they had in common. Rachel was being too damn nice, and Santana was warning Quinn to start paying attention. Pay attention to what? Quinn pursed her lips, felt her jaw clench. With her luck today, she'd end up seeing Rachel standing at the foot of her bed with a stuffed bear, singing Barbra, and Santana cracking her knuckles behind her just in case things went wrong. Her head throbbing painfully, she buried her face against the stiff pillow and groaned tearfully.
###
Quinn was standing outside Glee club, considering not going today. It had already been a terrible day and she really didn't feel like listening to more threats of violence if she didn't pay attention to whatever it was that Santana was threatening her over and Rachel was helping her with. Quinn rolled her eyes, moved into the room hoping to be not as noticeable. Of course, she was the last to arrive and everyone else was already in the middle of some conversation. She took a seat on the farthest side of the room, folded her hands in her lap, and pulled out a notebook. The least she could do to get her mind off everything was doodle. An envelope fell out, and she looked confusedly at it. Scrawled in neat handwriting was her name. Some kind of letter. That familiar wave of nausea hit. She looked around as if to spot who'd given it to her, but nobody was even looking in her direction. Mercedes was belting out a song and everyone else was watching with rapt attention. Quinn felt her head throbbing again, and she shoved the note roughly in her pocket, resigning herself to hiding the letter. She played it off, as if she'd recieved nothing, until she heard someone sink into the seat beside her. Brown hair. Argyle skirt.
"No," Quinn stood, rapidly, not caring as eyes turned on her. "No," she insisted angrily. Rachel had sat beside her. As if they were friends. As if Quinn was supposed to put up with all the ridiculous nonsense that had been going on all day. Santana flashed her a heated glare, Mercedes had stopped her performance and started going on about Rachel never getting interrupted during a performance. Schuester was looking hopelessly confused and afraid that a fight was going to break out.
Rachel was breathing a little short, as if she was a little upset. She searched Quinn's face, Quinn still standing frozen on the spot.
Quinn kicked over her own empty chair before she stormed out, leaving behind a perplexed Glee club and a very angry Latina.
###
Quinn managed to convince her mother over the next two days that she needed to stay home. Although she undoubtedly could have made it through Thursday and Friday physically, she didn't know if her emotions could handle it. Her phone had been ringing off the hook and she'd recognized the ringtone: Santana had been calling her for the first time in months.
Finally, it seemed that her former best friend had resigned to texting her, since Quinn wasn't going to answer.
I was serious when I said u needed to pay attention. U arent HBIC anymore & need to chill the fck out. - S
Quinn frowned, rolled her eyes, and buried her face in her blankets.
I'm not the one throwing punches and trying to make friends or fuck buddies. - Q
When Santana didn't text her back, she felt a mixture of relief and irritation. For all Rachel knew, Santana was just using her to get in her pants. After all, Santana loved a good chase. And Quinn, for the life of her, couldn't understand why she was so upset. She thought it probably had something to do with the fact that Santana had formerly been her best friend, and was now protecting Quinn's only enemy. It was Friday afternoon and Quinn couldn't help feeling a bit pissed off that she was spending the majority of her day thinking about the whole situation. She did her best to distract herself, occasionally getting up to grab a book or something to draw on, and when she picked up her sweater from the day before, the envelope from Wednesday fell out.
Quinn wasn't sure if her stomach was still with the rest of her organs, because she was pretty sure she felt it fall through the floor. She contemplated burning the letter. Considering all the strangeness coming from her former best friend and her rival, it seemed all-together a bad idea to open up that letter.
She wanted to forget about it, but around dinnner-time, the letter was still sitting beside Quinn's bed. She thoughtfully fingered the seal before opening it. Cautiously, she peeked inside to make sure no one had slipped her anthrax, before she pulled out the paper from inside. Quinn was pretty sure this was some kind of trick, so she flipped over and examined both sides just to be sure there wasn't something else to it. Finally, she opened it, reading it with skepticism.
Quinn,
I know by now you're probably wondering what has spurred the sudden companionship between myself and Santana and Brittany. I wish I could tell you, but it seems as if you may not be able to get over your dislike of me. There are many things I wish I could say, but for now I will settle for my own persistence. Maybe one day you won't hate me so much. I prepare myself for extra slushies, because I'm sure you'll find a way to get them to me in reprecussion for my forward behavior. I wish I could say that it mattered, but it won't. You and I have been at odds for so long, I'm not sure things can ever change. I've tried reaching out to you, tried explaining things to you before, and there have been moments where your hatred of me has softened a little. Yet, I don't foresee any immediate change in our relations. I just want you to know, I'm sorry for the times you've lost things you care about. I see you, Quinn, even when you don't want me to. I'm not going to stop being kind just because you can't handle someone caring about you.
Warmly and sincerely,
Rachel Barbra Berry
Quinn didn't know if she was more surprised or annoyed, and she sat there staring dumbly at the letter in front of her. A wave of nausea hit, and she surged from the bed. She didn't know why all of this was making her sick to her stomach, but it was. She vaguely heard her mother come into her room.
"Quinnie?"
Quinn didn't answer. She couldn't, really, and as she perched herself next to the bathtub and took her head in her hands, she crumpled up Rachel's letter and threw it in the garbage. Her mother jiggled the door handle, and Quinn heard a resigned sigh on the other side of the door.
"I'll leave your soup by your bed, Quinnie."
"Okay," Quinn breathed out, closed her eyes. She hated herself for many reasons, one of the main reasons being that she couldn't accept any act of kindness from anyone. Maybe it was some kind of streak she got from her father, but she felt particularly cruel when anyone showed weakness - and Quinn thought of emotion as weakness. Quinn hated that about herself, and she wished desperately that she could change it if only to stop being such a miserable person, but when she had tried, she'd lost greatly. She'd lost Beth.
The thought stung, and Quinn tucked her knees against her chest and buried her face against her legs. She cursed her weakness, her emotions, and heard Rachel Berry's words running through her head. Quinn couldn't handle someone caring about her, Rachel had been right. She definitely couldn't handle someone she'd targeted as her enemy being the person to offer kindness. Quinn saw it as pity, charity, and she didn't need that from anyone. In the other room, distantly, she heard her phone ringing and ignored it.
###
It was a couple hours later, and Quinn was laying in bed, staring at the blank wall beside her mattress. Her lips were pursed and her brow was knit in thought, despite trying to clear her head. She heard a knock on her door, ignored it, but when her mother cracked open the door carefully, Quinn only listened.
"Quinnie? You have a guest," her mother hesitated in the doorway. "Go ahead, sweetie," she spoke to whoever was in the room with her. "I'll leave you two alone."
Quinn didn't roll over. She just assumed it was Santana, since the Latina had been harassing her via phone for the last two days. "Go away, Lopez," she murmured, eyes closed, and she felt a small weight shift on the mattress, as if someone had sat down on the very edge of the bed. "Isn't it bad enough you've been blowing up my phone for two days?"
It wasn't Santana.
"I'm afraid you're mistaken."
Rachel Berry.
"Christ," Quinn cursed, shot up, and recoiled like she'd been doused in ice cold water. She leaned against her wall, tugging her comforter around her as if she was exposed in some way - though she wasn't, since she was in pajamas. "Berry, is there a reason I shouldn't kick you out right this second?" It was at this very moment she realized two things: Rachel wasn't wearing argyle, and she was holding a plate of cookies. It felt like someone squeezed the air out of her lungs because Rachel was wearing a black shirt and jeans, her hair straightened over her shoulders and bangs hinting at her eyes.
"You have every right to ask me to leave, but you're ill, or at least that's what I assume since you were sick at school on Wednesday and have missed two days hence," Rachel offered the small plate of cookies to Quinn, eyes darting to the plate and her hands as if afraid Quinn was going to react violently, "so I brought you something to brighten your spirits and make you feel a little better, perhaps."
Quinn swallowed, hazel eyes shooting from Rachel's face, to the plate, and again back to Rachel's face. She blinked confusedly, took the offered plate of cookies, and set them on her bedside table. She folded her hands in her lap, tried to remember to keep breathing. "Have I gone insane? Santana's fighting for you, you're writing me letters and bringing me cookies and this is all really fucking confusing and out of the blue."
"I understand why you might feel that way. Santana, Brittany, and my friendship is not as sudden as it may seem. We've bonded over some common factors - "
"What, hating me?"
Rachel looked hurt, and she swallowed. Quinn saw that flash of pain in Rachel's eyes as she glanced up at the diva, and she felt a wave of nausea. Rachel realized she'd lost her composure, apparently, because she cleared her throat and dignified her expression with a shake of her head, "I don't hate you. Santana may be angry with you but she doesn't hate you, and Brittany couldn't hate anyone. And you're not insane. You're just scared."
"God I just - " Quinn couldn't even finish her own sentence as she collapsed back on her bed and took her pillow, covering her face with it and groaning into the down-feathers. "Don't touch me," she barked from beneath the pillow as she felt a tentative hand brush her arm, "God, Berry, what don't you get about the words 'I don't like you' because I'm pretty sure I've made it clear that I do not want anything to do with you, and this kindness act is really driving me nuts, I wish you'd just go back to trying to steal whoever I'm dating - "
"I'm fairly certain you're not dating anyone," Rachel looked conflicted and stung, her hand frozen in midair, "and just because you're not okay with having a friend - "
"We aren't friends, Rachel, we never have been. We're enemies. That's how this works. I hate you and hurt you and you hate me and do that wounded thing you do," Quinn felt herself fuming again, only without as much conviction and with even a little hesitation. "This .. this doesn't work this way," she motioned between them and indicated the cookies, "you don't bring me 'get well' cookies."
Rachel sighed, "Santana told me you'd be difficult, but I didn't imagine you'd be this much in denial of someone's outreach." She picked at some invisible flaw in her jeans and looked down. Quinn noticed the way Rachel's bangs fell in her eyes, the way Rachel's lips moved when she was thinking of what to say next. "I suppose I'll go, but I'm going to leave these cookies here. I have a proposition for you," Rachel stood after a moment. "Santana, Brittany, and I are going to the mall tomorrow. Santana's told me that I need a bit of a varied wardrobe, and I've already inquired as to how they'd feel if I invited you. They've agreed to the arrangement as long as you're kind and keep the insults to a minimum."
Quinn scoffed, looked away, glaring darkly at her wall. Rachel still hadn't left yet and she was inviting Quinn to go shopping, "I've clearly gone insane or this is some kind of nightmare."
"I'll be outside your house tomorrow morning at approximately 11 a.m. Santana will be picking us up, if you agree to go," Rachel persisted, quietly. "And I nearly forgot, I hope you read the letter before you threw it away."
Quinn had read it, but she wasn't going to tell Rachel that. Quinn wondered why she felt like crying, why she felt dismantled, angry, confused, but what was most perplexing was why she hadn't kicked Rachel out. Her bottom lip quivered. "Can you go now?" Her voice rasped out in a quiet plea, softer than she'd intended.
Rachel complied, noiselessly leaving the bedroom and shutting the door behind her. Quinn ignored the sound of Rachel's voice as she thanked Judy for allowing her to stop by to visit Quinn, and ignored the fact that she felt guilt pouring into her lungs like lead weights, making it hard to breathe.
###
Quinn stared at her alarm clock the next morning. She felt ridiculously depressed, anxious, confused. She didn't like change, and in the last week she'd experienced too much of it to feel at all happy or at ease. In fact, as the clock blinked at her, she felt unease looming over her.
What did it mean, the fact that her enemy was trying to be her friend, and her friends were trying to protect her enemy? Rachel had hinted that they'd bonded over something they all had in common, but the only thing she could think was that they all had a vendetta against Quinn at some point. Could it be some arrangement to get back at Quinn?
10:50 a.m. She had 10 minutes, because Rachel Berry would of course be right on the dot. Quinn peeled herself from bed, and idly wondered what in the hell she was doing putting on clothing and getting ready to go to the mall, not only with the girl she'd just punched in the face two days ago, but also with the girl she'd spent the last three years of high school fighting with.
10:57 a.m. Quinn's stomach churned, and she sighed. She brushed her hair, wondered if it looked alright, and applied a light foundation and some powder, just enough makeup to look natural, and she sighed. If her world was going to turn upside down, she might as well hang herself from the ceiling and hang on for dear life. She made her way down the stairs, knowing that the house was empty and both parents were gone for the day. She rifled through the jar atop the fridge, pulled out $50 for spending money, and shoved it in her pocket. She fixed her jeans, smoothing them over. She'd chosen a yellow shirt that hung loosely on her, the hem just below the largest part of her thighs. Quinn sighed, quietly, and glanced nervously at the clock. She made her way to the front door, stepped outside. No sign of Rachel yet, and Quinn looked around, suspicious that perhaps she was about to get egged, and stepped carefully behind the safety of her porch railing, and sat down. Legs hanging through the slats, she sat down and looped her arms through the railing as well. And she waited.
As expected, Rachel arrived at 11 a.m. on the dot, with two cups of something in her hand. She looked far too happy to see Quinn, and Quinn nervously stood up, running her wrists up and down the thighs of her jeans - a nervous action she used to do when she was younger.
"I see you've decided to take me up on my proposition. In that case, I've brought you hot chocolate to start the morning, since I don't know your stance on caffeinated beverages," Rachel beamed up at Quinn from the bottom of the stoop, offered her the styrofoam cup, and Quinn hesitated before she took it.
Quinn peeled off the lid, peered inside just in case, suspicious of some kind of trick, and she nodded as she put the lid back on, "Thank you," she spoke quietly, aware of how raspy her voice could be in the morning. "I'm .. I didn't mean to be rude yesterday."
"It's quite alright. I understand. We've never been on good terms, so I understand your hesitation and your confusion at the sudden change," Rachel never failed to find the most words for everything, and it was making Quinn's head hurt. Instead of replying with something mean or bitter, she merely sipped at the hot chocolate Rachel had given her. She looked around, and awkwardly rocked on her heels before sitting down. Rachel took it as a queue to do the same, because she sat down next to Quinn on the stoop, and they both sat in quiet awkwardness for a few moments. "You read my letter?"
Quinn didn't really want to answer that, because she'd have to admit that she did read it and by not refuting the letter and accepting this invitation for the shopping trip, she'd silently agreed to accept Rachel's kindness. She chewed on her bottom lip and wondered if she could pretend that she hadn't heard Rachel, but Quinn wasn't stupid and she knew Rachel would persist. So, she settled for nodding her head briefly and darting her eyes to Rachel. Rachel was watching her expectantly.
"Well, I'm glad it wasn't wasted, then," Rachel merely sipped at whatever she had to drink, and glanced down at the vast space between them. They really couldn't have sat farther apart without moving off the porch entirely. Quinn cleared her throat, shrugged her shoulder noncomittally.
Quinn didn't know what to say. She felt as if she'd eaten a box of chalk.
"I realize we aren't friends," Rachel almost sounded a bit sad at the words, "but I hope this will begin something, Quinn. I'm tired of fighting with you. It's nearly halfway through our junior year of high school and I've realized it is an incredible waste of energy to be battling someone who I very much ... " Rachel hesitated, shifted nervously, and out of the corner of her eye, Quinn saw Rachel dig the toe of her shoe into the ground beneath them, "care about. As I've told you. So, this.. today, is my truce. My white flag. I won't fight with you any more. I can only hope that you'll come to a place of acceptance at some point, and that this won't somehow lead to worse harassment."
Quinn frowned. Too many words. Here was Rachel, telling her she was done fighting with her. If Quinn was being honest with herself, she also knew that she was tired of the fighting. It took a lot out of her, constantly picking fights with Rachel, lashing out. Quinn was so tired some days, she just wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. "Okay."
Even though the word was all Quinn could manage, it seemed to be enough for Rachel, who bounced beside her and beamed at Quinn.
Quinn smiled lamely in return, hazel eyes lingering for only a second before she resumed sipping at her hot chocolate. "Thanks for the drink," she mumbled from the lid of her cup, fingers drumming on the side. This was a start, right?
Rachel smiled even larger, if that was possible. "You're quite welcome."
They waited the rest of the time in silence, until Quinn spotted Santana's car pulling up in her drive. It had been months at the most since she'd seen that car in her drive, since she and Santana had begun fighting in place of their friendship. Quinn really couldn't even remember what had driven them apart, but she figured it was probably her fault. She hadn't exactly been kind to anyone in a long time, and Santana wasn't the person to take people's shit.
"Preggo, I'm surprised you agreed to come. When Berry said she wanted to invite you I told her you were too much of a bitch these days to come with us," Santana's words weren't exactly friendly, but her tone wasn't cutting. Quinn's first instinct was to sling an insult her way, but she bit her tongue and watched Rachel climb into the backseat of Santana's car. The blonde got in after her, suddenly wishing Santana's car was bigger because she could feel Rachel's arm against her side and it made her feel ill.
Quinn darted her gaze between Brittany and Santana, "Yeah, well, I guess you were wrong," she tried to keep the venom out of her voice but it didn't completely work - she could tell by the way Rachel and Brittany were exchanging nervous glances with one another. Rachel's fingers were drumming on the door beside the diva and Quinn wondered why Rachel was nervous. "Thanks for having me."
"Don't think me, Britt and Rachel talked me into it." Santana shrugged a shoulder and when their eyes connected, Quinn's gaze faltered in shame. She'd been such a horrible friend for so long, she didn't exactly blame Santana for her behavior or her reactions lately.
They fell into silence, but soon Santana had cranked up the music as they cruised along the highway, on their way to the mall - it was just out of town - and for the next 30 minutes, Quinn witnessed just exactly how close her old friends and her enemy had gotten. They were singing along to the Scissor Sisters together, Rachel was laughing brilliantly and hanging her arm over the back of Santana's chair. Quinn felt a surge of jealousy, and she swallowed it down as she looked out the window, trying to distract herself from the conflicted pool of feelings inside of her head. Her head started to pound a bit. She was thinking too much. She was sure Rachel had forgotten all about her even being there - that is, until she felt a warm hand on her arm. Quinn wanted to jump out of her seat but there wasn't near enough room to move much less move away from the touch.
Rachel was searching Quinn's face, concern etched on her unique features, and Quinn swallowed a bit nervously. Rachel's finger was delicately tracing the vein running down Quinn's wrist into her hand and Quinn wondered if she really had eaten a box of chalk this morning, because as she tried to speak, she felt her tongue still against the roof of her mouth like it was petrified in stone. As if realizing she was making Quinn nervous, or confused, or all of the above, she pulled away her hand after a moment.
Quinn knew Rachel was trying to offer comfort, friendship, but Quinn's head was spinning and she was wondering if attaching herself to the ceiling while Rachel single-handedly spun her world upside-down would be enough to make Quinn feel any sense of ease. Santana was singing into the mirror, her eyes lingering on Quinn, and Quinn's expression relented to a softer one. She tried to communicate a silent apology to the Latina, but felt uncertain as she glanced away. Rachel was still laughingly leaning across Quinn's lap to drape her arm over the top of Santana's chair as they all belted out lyrics. This was one of those times Quinn wished she could disappear, but instead settled for sinking lower in her seat.
Again, she felt a warm hand, this time on her knee. She looked up, half expecting to see Rachel staring at her, but Rachel wasn't looking at her at all. She was still singing, her hand casually resting on Quinn's knee as if it belonged there.
Quinn knew she should move that hand, should stop it, because it was an all-too-painfully-clear visual representation of exactly what was flipping her world upside down and over again. It made her dizzy, added to her confusion. Her heart pattered and halted nervously as she felt Rachel's fingers squeeze her kneecap. Hazel eyes darted between Rachel's hand and Rachel's face - Rachel seemed completely unaware that she was even squeezing Quinn's knee, but Quinn saw her brown eyes flicker over to catch Quinn staring, open-mouthed.
Rachel offered her a quiet smile, and her eyes smoldered as she looked at Quinn. No, she had to be imagining that. Quinn felt frozen in place as the car sped down the highway. She had to have been imagining it. She really had lost her mind somewhere and she was having some kind of weird nightmare. Down the rabbithole somewhere, she was falling, cascading into some weird world where Santana Lopez actually cared about Rachel Berry as a friend and she wasn't screeching in protest as Rachel's hand rested comfortably on her knee.
Quinn's face was burning, and she felt absolutely hazy and confused as she watched Rachel lapse in singing, Brittany and Santana too lost in singing to notice. Rachel's face was flush with laughter and singing, still, but she wasn't singing right now. She was just looking at Quinn with sparkling eyes, hand squeezing her knee delicately again. The blonde was fairly certain she couldn't breathe. Rachel was using The Force or something to squeeze the air out of her lungs. Quinn's hands were awkwardly fisted in her own lap, Rachel's eyes were threatening to dismantle her. Rachel was leaning against the backseat, eyes not even wavering as they took Quinn's gaze in. Quinn was watching Rachel with confusion, fear. She figured she probably looked like a deer in the headlights.
Rachel didn't waver even though Quinn probably looked terrified. Quinn felt herself trembling a little, offered a lame half-smile, and she glanced down, face flushed. She felt guilty. Felt so many things. Most of all she felt heat radiating up the leg Rachel was touching. Experimentally, she reached out and touched Rachel's fingers, drew away, glanced at Rachel. Rachel was smiling quietly, gaze unmoving. Again, Quinn experimentally rested, halted her fingers just above Rachel's, and rested her hand on top of Rachel's for a brief second. She offered a squeeze of Rachel's hand. Rachel beamed next to her and withdrew her hand.
Quinn felt air gust back into her lungs, grateful that Rachel had taken the squeeze as good enough for now. Quinn thought it was going to be quite a long day, but she wondered who had decided to turn everything she knew around on her, who had decided to paint everything in inverse colors.
The group arrived at the mall shortly after Quinn figured out how to clear her brain a little bit - humming in her head - and they all piled out of Santana's car and headed toward the mall. Quinn lagged a little unsurely behind the trio, watching as Rachel skipped ahead and laughingly threw herself against Brittany's arms, the duo skipping together as if they were Dorothy and the Scarecrow from Wizard of Oz. Quinn glanced aside, where Santana strode, smiling affectionately at the pair before her expression hardened in Quinn's direction.
"Don't think this means everything is all better," Santana stated defensively.
Quinn swallowed. Her first reaction was to fight Santana on it, but she only nodded mutely.
"Rachel wanted you here so that's why you're here."
"Why..? I mean.."
"I'm not supposed to explain things to you," Santana rolled her eyes. "Listen, Q, I know you've been through a lot of shit but it doesn't mean you've ever had any right to lash out at your friends like you have."
Quinn felt that wave of guilt and nausea. "I know."
"So?"
"I have no excuse," Quinn offered quietly. What else could she say? She didn't know what to say. She didn't know how this worked - apologizing, feeling guilty - she was heartless and a bitch, Santana had said it herself. She scuffed her foot against marble as they entered the mall.
Rachel had lagged a bit, tugged Brittany by the hand, and was flushed with laughter, "Are you two coming?" She inquired softly, concerned eyes darting first over Santana - Quinn felt jealousy but putshed it away - and then Quinn, secondly. She'd looked at Santana first.
The hell did she feel jealous for? Quinn glanced away from those brown eyes.
"We're good, short stuff," Santana teased, grinned. "Talking and shit, you know."
"Just don't kill each other. You promised me we'd go to Build-a-Bear," Brittany chimed in softly and pulled Rachel along ahead of them.
Santana chuckled warmly.
"What's your angle?"
"Excuse me?" Santana's eyes narrowed as she appraised Quinn, "Did you really just ask me that?" Santana sounded offended, and was trying to stay quiet apparently so she didn't draw attention to them.
"Your friendship with Rachel," Quinn knew she had no right to ask, no reason to pry, but she couldn't help it. And as if it wasn't confusing enough, she was actually worried about Rachel getting hurt, now that she thought about it.
Santana huffed, "No game. Unlike you, Q, I've turned over a relatively new leaf and I suggest you do the same."
Quinn was left in the dust for a moment, before she jogged to catch up, "Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ... piss you off, but come on, with how things had been before all this now all of a sudden you three are friends and Rachel's being nice to me even though you hate me and I'm just ... fuck, S, I'm confused, okay?"
Santana rolled her eyes, folded her arms over her chest, "Fine, understandable. I have no angle. We ... have stuff in common and it's just nice to be around people who don't judge me, alright?"
Quinn hesitated, nodded, swallowing the rest of her questions for later on in the day.
###
Later on in the day, Quinn found herself yet again walking behind the three amigas, hands shoved in her pockets. She'd tried a few times to make conversation or join in but she just felt awkward and unsure and guilty. She stopped at a window, looking at some shoes as Santana hopped onto Brittany's back and the pair charged through a crowd, Santana shouting in Spanish and startling a large group of elderly people. Rachel laughingly chased after them until she realized Quinn wasn't nearby, and Quinn felt eyes on her as she stood at the window, felt a warm hand on her arm.
Quinn felt the urge to jerk away, but couldn't force herself to. She merely stayed put, didn't look at Rachel immediately. She felt the hand at her arm sliding down, and when she looked over, she saw Rachel staring at Quinn's arm in awe. She tried her best not to be affected, but Rachel's gaze quite obviously smoldered as she watched the trail of her own hand down Quinn's arm. Quinn felt her breathing shorten. When the hell did Berry start looking at her that way? She felt Rachel's fingers graze her palm, and Rachel glanced up at Quinn, just now noticing that Quinn was watching her in a mixture of confusion and ... something else that made Quinn's face feel hot. Quinn's fingers twitched in response to Rachel's fingers as they danced along the back of her own.
"You guys coming?" Santana yelled back through the crowd.
Quinn jerked away in surprise, like she'd been doused in ice, and Rachel's face flashed with disappointment. "Yeah," she yelled back in response. She wanted to tell Rachel to stop. Stop making her dizzy, stop looking at her like that, stop spinning the globe around on its axis, but Quinn couldn't speak. All she could do was offer a gentle squeeze to Rachel's shoulder as she jogged ahead, caught up with Santana and Brittany, and tried to stop her head from swimming in confusion.
Rachel caught up, linking her arm with Santana and skipping alongside her. She looked over at Quinn as she did so, flashing Quinn a brilliant grin that Quinn could only return. Quinn's eyes darted unsurely afterward, and saw Brittany looking at her with a quiet smile. The next thing she knew, Brittany was picking her up in her arms the way a groom would his bride, and Quinn was laughing, "Oh my god, Britt, put me down."
"Nope. I missed you, Q. I know you and San hadn't been getting along but I'm glad you came today," Brittany stated happily and shrugged her shoulders.
Quinn smiled, felt her face flush, "Yeah...I'm...you know."
"I know, you're sorry. Even though you never say it, I know when you're sorry." Brittany set Quinn down a moment later. "Now come on, you have to help me decide what to make when we get to Build-a-Bear. San's buying me whatever I want." She took Quinn's hand, and before Quinn could protest, she was being dragged into Build-a-Bear.
Quinn couldn't help the smile on her face. At least if things were going to be uber-weird, she could enjoy herself along the way.
"I like the hippo," Britt said thoughtfully, reaching in the bin. "San? Help me pick out clothes," she took Santana by the hand and the pair strode off.
Quinn's stomach dropped, mostly because so far every moment alone with Rachel today contained extra confusion and weirdness, but as she looked aside, she saw Rachel looking longingly at a bear with a gold star on the stomach. She pondered what she was about to do. Quinn thumbed the 50 in her pocket, and swallowed. Her eyes darted from Rachel to the floor.
"Let's pick out some clothes," Quinn spoke, felt her lungs strangle in confusion. Quinn cleared her throat awkwardly as Rachel looked at her in disbelief. "For uhm," Quinn hesitated, faltered, picked up the bear with the gold star, "for Stritchy," she offered lamely, "in honor of.." Quinn was getting ever more nervous because Rachel was just staring at her, mouth agape, "in honor of a truce."
Rachel's eyes filled with tears, and for a moment Quinn felt like bolting out of the store, but she nearly fell over when Rachel leapt into her arms and hugged on to her like she'd just won the Tony Awards. "Let's get it stuffed, then," Rachel sniffled as she pulled away, nodding tearfully, and hesitating before she took Quinn gently by the hand and led the taller girl to where an associate waited to fill the bear with just enough stuffing to make it huggable. Quinn didn't know why she was doing this, why she was buying Rachel a bear, but she was, and she stood awkwardly nearby as Rachel eagerly waited, and then smiled brilliantly. "I'm impressed that you know who Elaine Stritch is," she admitted, a bashful tint to her voice as she looked down, thumbing the seam of the bear's back.
"I guess I'm full of surprises today," Quinn mumbled softly, and when Rachel looked at her unsurely, she merely offered a half-smile. "So uh...clothes for Stritchy?"
"Of course!" Rachel beamed, hesitated and chewed thoughtfully on her full bottom lip, and Quinn nearly slapped herself in the face when her eyes dropped to Rachel's lips. She didn't have to, though, because Brittany was crashing in between them.
"You guys are going to make one, too? Oh, it's perfect for you, Rachel!"
"Yeah, it definitely is," Rachel probably couldn't have smiled any bigger if she had tried, Quinn thought, and she wondered why she was here. In her mind, she was strapping her feet to the ceiling and blood was rushing to her head. Rachel glanced over, met Quinn's eyes, "Quinn has good taste."
Quinn was pretty sure her gulp was audible, and she glanced behind Brittany, where Santana was watching the scene with an air of a pitbull that was carefully observing the person they were supposed to protect. She gave Quinn a meaningful stare before she came over, taking Brittany's hand.
"Come on, B, let's pay for yours," Santana pulled her away.
Quinn could only awkwardly glance away from Rachel, and pulled a white button-up shirt from the wall, "Stritchy," she offered lamely at Rachel, and tried to ignore the rushing sound in her ears when Rachel beamed at her and nodded.
"Shoes to match," the brunette grinned, bumped her hip against Quinn's, as she picked up a pair of black high heels.
"Stockings." Quinn was surprised at the sound of her own laugh - she hadn't laughed in what seemed like so long, and for the moment forgot that she was supposed to be miserable.
"I haven't heard you laugh in forever," Rachel murmured, softly. Her eyes darted nervously over at Quinn, and the brunette tucked a long, dark lock of hair behind her ear. She looked ... bashful? Shy? Something. Her cheeks were flushed. "I think it's a lovely sound."
Quinn blushed, and inwardly cursed herself for going along with this whole weird upside-down world thing that was going on. Of course, maybe Santana had been on to something. Maybe some things were changing. No matter how many times Quinn fought it in her head, she just couldn't convince herself that she was imagining this. "Thanks," she mumbled, softly, "let's get Stritchy dressed and pay for her," she offered, showing Rachel the 50.
Rachel reached over, squeezed Quinn's hand and held it for a moment too long, causing Quinn to flush red again. "You have no idea what it means."
For the truce...yeah. That's what it was for. After all, being nice to Rachel had to be easier than being mean to her. She hoped.