Author's Notes: As always, my thanks go out to Mike Ownby for not only cleaning up my comma abuse (his words and I agree), but also supporting this angst parade.
Rachel's days blurred into an endless parade of rehearsals and work, apart from the mandatory portion carved out for Elly. It was tough, but she didn't mind the grueling pace. She was being paid for doing what she loved, what she had spent her entire life doing; and she was moving on with her life.
She wasn't happy, per se; but Rachel felt like she might be getting there.
Her life had been just as hectic before Quinn's passing, really; even during her third trimester of pregnancy, Rachel had made it a point to drop by the theatre unexpectedly to watch her understudy perform. Quinn had called her the phantom of Broadway; Rachel had taken it as a compliment.
It wasn't until a throwaway comment from Brittany about not seeing her around the workshop lately that Rachel realized she'd forgotten about the Abomination.
Hi.
Hello, Rachel.
Sorry it's been a while.
I didn't notice. Honestly. Also, there's no need to apologize. You must have been busy, and that's a good thing.
I've been very busy, yes.
Are you feeling guilty for not talking to me?
No.
You are, aren't you?
Rachel sighed. Her rational mind (which over the past decade had grown to sound a lot like Quinn) spoke to her, telling her it was absurd to feel guilty concerning a machine which lacked emotions. Rachel, however, was the sort of person who got emotionally invested in animals in nature documentaries and was upset when they died.
Quinn used to hate that, but she would also buy Rachel her vegan peanut butter swirl ice cream and eat it with her until Rachel felt better.
Yes, okay, I am. I can't help it.
I know.
You must think that's weird.
I don't think per se. But my programming tells me that's one of your personality quirks, and so they are more than acceptable.
Personality quirks.
Is that offensive? I apologize if that's the case.
Not at all. I remember when Quinn would use that phrase to describe some of my less charming behaviors in high school.
Yes, I have knowledge of those.
Nothing escapes you.
No. Not unless my memory is faulty, in which case I wouldn't remember what I forgot.
Rachel paused. It had come out more sarcastic than she had intended; she was grateful that the computer didn't comprehend sarcasm.
You know, I used to be a lot worse in high school – and I'm quite certain you do know. I used to throw tantrums if I didn't get my way.
Yes, I have knowledge of that. I also have it on record that Quinn found it endearing, in a way.
I do remember her saying that once. To this day, I'll never understand what kind of woman finds that behavior endearing.
Quinn did. She thought that it was you lashing out the people that couldn't understand you, and that your talent and personality were too big for that small town.
She knew that for a fact; Quinn had said it three times. Once when they were high school sophomores and Quinn had told her to write a song on her own; again when they'd reconnected after college, and the third time as part of her wedding vows.
You've matured a lot since those days of diva tantrums and walk-outs.
My dads spoiled me, Rachel typed, anxious to steer the conversation away from Quinn, I love them to pieces, but they let me get away with a lot of things when I was a kid, especially Daddy.
Presumably that was how you got off with sending that transfer student to a crack house?
Rachel started laughing.
It was abandoned! It was perfectly safe; Sunshine would merely have been inconvenienced. I got the address from my Daddy, who is a senior detective with the Lima Police; that's how I knew she wouldn't have been in any real danger.
Did you know she's doing pretty well for herself now? She's a YouTube star; recently, she was picked to perform in some Hollywood blockbuster of the year.
That's wonderful to hear.
Yes… it used to make me mad, actually. I was in intensive therapy for a few months after Quinn passed. That we were all doing so well in life, except her. I felt that it wasn't fair that she was the only one who had to suffer.
I can understand how you would draw that conclusion, although I am not equipped with the ability to reason otherwise. However, I'm sorry you felt that way.
Thank you.
I'm mostly over it. The anger issues, I mean. I still see my therapist occasionally for coffee; she just tells me I'm doing great.
Which is a remarkable achievement. I gather from your phrasing that you don't seem to think so.
You're correct. Although I don't know whether you got that from Quinn and her psychoanalyzing, or your computer logic.
I swear, she took one abnormal psychology class at Yale, and she becomes an expert…
Why not both?
Rachel smiled, shaking her head. Quinn's joking diagnosis of her narcissistic personality disorder (and her subsequent defence of "trust me, Rach, I took a psych class") whenever she felt Rachel was being selfish or self-absorbed had happened enough times over the years to be their own private joke. The most recent example she could recall was when Elly was an infant; Rachel had attempted to prove that she was the favorite parent through a comparison of times Rachel was more successful at soothing the baby than Quinn. Quinn had insisted her proof was invalid because there wasn't enough data to support her hypothesis conclusively.
Rachel felt like she would give anything to be able to have that argument with Quinn again.
Because both would be a little too creepy for me to fathom right now.
I understand.
"Something bothering you, Ohio?"
Rachel could tell Cassie was genuinely concerned by her choice of nickname. She straightened up, pushing her hair from her sweaty forehead. "Nothing, really."
Cassie sniffed. "If nothing was bothering you, then you would've gotten that routine down half an hour ago. It's simple stuff, Schwimmer, unless you're telling me this is all a bad dream and I'm about to wake up to you and your god-awful freshman fashion sense."
"I don't need to explain myself to you," snapped Rachel.
"Correct. You don't owe me anything except the privilege of maybe not wasting my fucking time."
Rachel sighed. "... Sorry. Can I buy you a drink, Cassie?"
"An apology? I knew I should have bought the scratch-off the homeless guy was offering me this morning. I could have been a millionaire by now." Cassie walked away from her and shut off the music. "Coffee will do. I've got my chip, I'd like to keep it."
"Your chip…? Cassie, that's fantastic." And Rachel felt bad that she hadn't noticed the bottles were absent, and Cassie's studio no longer smelt like a bar.
The older woman scooped up her bag. "Mmhmm. Congratulations, me."
Rachel followed suit. "Don't you have a class this afternoon?" she asked.
"That's what teaching assistants are for, Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes."
"Of course, how could I have forgotten?" She made sure Cassie could see her roll her eyes; out of the corner of her eye, she saw the older woman smirk. "Yes. Now that you mention it, I do recall being taught by Brody fairly often. Presumably you were out there making better use of your time."
"Now you're catching on. Jokes aside, it's a freshman class. I could end up with another of you."
"It's really heartening to see how much you care, Cass. I'm touched." Rachel led the way; there was a coffeeshop in the vicinity that she frequented during her college days. Rachel had many fond memories of the time spent here complaining to Kurt and Santana about NYADA and Cassandra July.
She had Cassie place her order, and then added her own coconut milk cappuccino, before paying for both. Cassie wrinkled her nose.
"Are you allergic to milk, Berry?"
"Hey, it's good. Trust me," replied Rachel.
"I'd rather not."
"And here I was thinking we'd gotten somewhere."
Cassie snorted. She took a seat at a nearby table, flicked her gaze towards the vacant chair, and back at Rachel.
Smiling, Rachel sat. "Now can we talk like sensible adults, or are we just gonna snipe at each other?"
"You wound me, Berry, I always thought the foreplay was the best part." But Cassie smiled. "I suppose since we're not insulting each other now, you'll tell me all your problems and we'll be," she gave a theatrical shudder, "friends."
"I've always admired you, Cassie, and I have considered you a friend for years," Rachel said honestly. "The fact that we're here right now having coffee means a lot to me."
"Yeah, you've never been able to take no for an answer." Cassie leaned back in her chair. "One of your biggest, and most annoying strengths."
The barista called Rachel's name, and she excused herself to fetch their drinks. For a few minutes, there was silence as they enjoyed their coffees.
"Your black coffee is such a cliche," remarked Rachel.
"I need to maintain my image." She took another sip of her black coffee and sighed. "So, Berry; talk. Is something other than the tragic passing of your wife bothering you?"
Rachel pursed her lips. "Ouch," she said, putting her cup down. "I was expecting something like that, but it hurt regardless. Though… I am curious why you didn't leave it at that."
"Your work ethic is just as well-known as your diva tendencies," said Cassie, and Rachel flushed in embarrassment. "You refuse to compromise your roles."
"And?"
"You haven't worked in nearly two years," replied Cassie. "You quit Evita the minute your wife got her diagnosis, and it's been a year since the funeral."
"Ten months," said Rachel immediately.
Cassie gave her a 'see-what-I-mean' look. "If you were still grieving, you wouldn't have taken this new role because you would have felt that you wouldn't be able to do it justice."
"... You're right," admitted Rachel.
"So? Having second thoughts?"
"No."
"Kid being a brat?"
"Far from it."
"Thinking about getting back in the dating game?"
Rachel spluttered. "Certainly not! What on earth gave you such a ludicrous idea?" she asked, giving Cassie an incredulous look.
Cassie shrugged. "You came to me for help because you know me. You know I won't handle you like fine china. I only agreed to help you in the first place because I may be a bitter, washed-up woman, but I know talent when I see it. Yes, I'm praising you. Deal with it, 'cause you're only gonna hear this once," added Cassie on seeing Rachel's dumbfounded expression. "You're a fighter. I know plenty of people who don't get back up from something like that, and I respect that you're doing it."
"I don't care to hear what's bothering you, honestly, but I'll care if you waste my time," continued Cassie, "because I don't give it away to just anyone."
Rachel nodded. "I understand."
"Good."
"... Your pep talk skills ranks up there with Santana's."
"Carmen Miranda Junior? Please. The next time you see her, tell her I haven't forgotten her little stunt. Hijacking my studio and students just to sing Paula Abdul to Brody Weston? Real classy."
Rachel blinked in surprise. "I'm sorry, what?"
"You should ask her about that." Cassie finished her coffee and stood up. She looked positively gleeful.
"I will," Rachel found herself saying. "Cassie? Before you go, may I ask you a question?"
"Like my saying no has ever stopped you," replied the older woman.
"Why are you being so nice to me now?" Rachel's fingers tightened around the handle of her mug. "Not just agreeing to help me, but all of this. Despite the many times you've insisted you don't care, I know you do."
Cassie paused. "Schwimmer, fifteen years ago when you walked into my studio, you were this annoying little cock of the walk. Fresh from being admitted into NYADA despite choking in your audition because you tugged hard enough on Tibideaux's heartstrings, swaggering like you owned the world."
"How…?"
"You come up in the gossip rags pretty often," said Cassie blithely. "The paps do their homework."
Cassie pointed at Rachel. "You had an exaggerated sense of self-importance far too big for someone your age." She pointed to herself. "I'm a teacher; it's my job to take kids and make them into adults. And that meant cutting that ego down to size. The fact that you didn't call me up after winning your first Tony to gloat means that I succeeded."
"I don't know what to say."
"Finally."
"Thank you."
The older woman smirked. "Never mind."
"That bitch!" screeched Santana.
"San, language," said Brittany reproachfully.
"Babe, did you not hear what Rachel said?"
Rachel removed her hands from either side of Elly's head, giving Santana a filthy look. "I agree with Brittany," she said indignantly. "Stop trying to corrupt my child."
"She watches TV. She'll pick it up eventually." Santana waved her hand carelessly.
Rachel ignored her. "Britt, I saw you on the news the other day," she said, still pointedly ignoring Santana. "Congrats."
"Thanks, Rach."
Santana scowled. "That's cute, guys. Ignore me like I'm on time out. Seriously? How old are we now?" To Elly, she said: "You see how mean your mama is to your Tia Santana, baby? You see? You're always on my side, aren't you, poopsie?"
Elly, cooing softly to herself, reached for the toy on the far side of her tray table and tried to put it in her mouth.
Santana beamed triumphantly. "She agrees with me."
"Stop trying to brainwash my daughter," said Rachel, sounding bored. She opened a jar of baby food and scooped it into Elly's bowl, immediately drawing the toddler's attention away from her toy.
"You're not the boss of me."
"No, but do I know for a fact what Quinn promised to do to you if you tried."
Rachel might have been kidding herself, but she was fairly certain she saw Santana pale slightly – after exchanging a look with Brittany.
"She wouldn't have done it," said Santana at last. "You wouldn't."
"Try me," replied Rachel serenely.
Brittany laughed. "I'd watch that."
"Britt, you're supposed to be on my side. It was in the marriage contract."
"I am on your side." She leaned over to kiss Santana's cheek. "But you also kinda deserve it for brainwashing Elly."
Santana pouted. Elly copied her.
"Oh my god, she looks exactly like Quinn," said Rachel. "Keep doing that baby, let Mama take your picture…" She snapped a photo with her phone. Looking down at the photo, Rachel was struck by how quickly Elly was growing up. She was a single mom to a toddler; the thought was stunning. Elly would never know Quinn…
… unless, of course, the Abomination was still around when she was old enough to understand.
The thought had occurred to her months before, but it wasn't something she was prepared to think through. She still wasn't ready now.
Santana, oblivious to the war going on in Rachel's head, continued to make faces at Elly, trying to get her to copy them.
"San and I were thinking it's time to start our own family," Brittany said to Rachel quietly. She'd been hesitant around Rachel since the Abomination.
Rachel tucked her phone away. "That's wonderful news, Britt." Rachel smiled warmly back at her friend. "The two of you will make wonderful moms."
"Thanks. San and I talked about it, and we decided that we'd like to ask you to be the baby's godmother." Brittany paused, wrinkling her brow. "Not like, a fairy one. Just a regular godmother. Unless you do have magical hobbit powers like Puck said you had in high school."
"What?"
"Puck said you had magical hobbit powers because of your thrift store wardrobe," said Brittany patiently.
"No, not that," said Rachel. She was used to Brittany's non-sequiturs but sometimes, she wished they wouldn't come with huge news. "Me? Godmother?"
"We couldn't think of anyone else we'd want more." It was Santana who'd spoken. Clearly, she wasn't as oblivious as Rachel had thought.
Rachel felt choked up. "Thank you. I'd be honored." She reached for Brittany's hand and gripped it tightly; after a pause, she extended her free hand to Santana.
Santana sighed. "Do we have to do this every time we have a moment?"
"Yes," said Rachel firmly.
"Fine." And she put Elly's hand in Rachel's.
Rachel just laughed.