Chapter Six
If Rachel expects anything to be different about Quinn following the confusion that was Friday night; she's severely mistaken. Maybe Quinn is a better actor than Rachel initially gives her credit for, but it's as if nothing is wrong.
Unless, well, you're looking close enough.
There's something in the way Quinn won't meet her gaze or even talk directly to her. Quinn refuses to be alone with her, as if she's afraid Rachel is going to bring it up. Which, in hindsight, she definitely will. Rachel just has a bit more tact than questioning the haunted girl amongst their peers. There was a time when she probably would have just gone for it, but she's grown a lot since then.
She was forced to.
They clash a lot.
Quinn says things, and Rachel says other things.
Rachel isn't sure why she pushes so hard. She acknowledges that Quinn asked her to; to keep challenging her and to ensure she's doing a good job. The thing is that Quinn is doing a brilliant job. It's almost sickening how good she is at being Head Student, and Rachel hates her a little bit for it because she knows Quinn isn't okay.
She knows, and the girl is refusing to talk to her about it. It irritates and infuriates her, and that's why she thinks she needles and pokes as much as she does.
Rachel wants to get a rise out of Quinn. She wants them to fight and attack and talk. It's not healthy, what Quinn's doing, and Rachel isn't sure how she's supposed to help her when Quinn blatantly avoids helping herself. Rachel can barely discuss it with Santana because both girls, like Quinn, are actively not bringing it up to each other. It's just poor form to bring something like this into normal conversation, and Rachel won't do it, but she needs Santana to.
The Latina doesn't.
It's the third week of school when Rachel gets any insight into what's actually going on with Quinn. It comes in the form of Kurt, who Quinn has taken to despite her desire to keep everyone at arm's length.
Rachel has just arrived at her bedroom door after popping out to the bathroom when she hears Kurt knocking on Quinn's. Predictably, Quinn doesn't answer the door because, well, she's not in. Rachel knows this because, whether consciously or not, she's learned Quinn's schedule.
So, breathing a sigh, she crosses the large corridor towards him. "She's out on a run," she tells him, and he startles, spinning around. "She won't be back for at least another twenty minutes."
"Oh," he says, glancing down at his phone in his hand. "No wonder she's not picking up."
Rachel presses her lips together. "Well, she doesn't actually take her phone out with her," she says, unable to keep her irritation out of her voice. He definitely notices, and raises his eyebrows in question. "Topic of contention between us."
"There seems to be a lot of those," he mutters, and the sides of her mouth tilt upwards. "Twenty minutes, you said?"
"Around about," she replies with a smile. "Is it a Head Student thing? Perhaps I could help?"
Kurt shakes his head, sighing. "It's more of an 'I'm-freaking-out-about-my-Calculus-test-tomorrow' thing," he says.
She grimaces in understanding. She's writing the same test first thing in the morning, and she's spent more time freaking out about it than actually preparing. Anything to do with Math has never been her strong point, but Kurt just looks dejected. "I - I could still help," she offers. "I mean, I'm nowhere as good as Quinn - " because, let's face it, nobody is " - but I do have practice questions and answers I managed to get from last year."
Kurt lets out a breath of relief. "Would you?"
She nods.
"Sure," she says. "We can work in, umm - "
"The library," he offers, knowing that she can't offer up her own room.
For whatever convoluted reason, boys aren't allowed to enter girls' rooms, but the reverse doesn't apply. It's incredibly sexist, and the Rachel of old definitely would have put up a fight, but not anymore.
She doesn't particularly want boys in her bedroom, even ones as seemingly harmful as Kurt Hummel.
"Rec Room?" he continues. "My room?"
"Perhaps your room is best," she says, keeping her voice steady. Kurt is kind, she knows that. "That way, when Quinn returns, she'll easily find us."
He nods. "Sounds like a plan," he says, as he shoots off a text to Quinn, probably telling her of their plans. Rachel uses the opportunity to go back to her room and gather her own books for the impromptu study session. The only people she's studied with at Dalton are Brittany and Santana. Rachel doesn't really like groups, but she does find comfort in sitting beside someone else who is studying as intensely as she is.
Kurt waits outside and, when she's ready, he leads her to his room, absently discussing how much he actually hates Calculus because, seriously, what is he supposed to do with it in his future career. It's the first time she realises she doesn't know all that much about him. She thinks Dalton keeps them so busy to stop them from getting up to mischief, but it also makes it rather difficult to get know one another.
Well, she's going to try.
"What do you want to do?" she asks once they reach his room. He holds off on a response as he opens the door and, from the look of the room, she's suddenly sure she asked a stupid question. "Oh."
He grins at her, waving an arm for her to enter before him. "I'm going to work in fashion," he declares, and Rachel can see it. His room is messy chaos, with bits of fabric in every corner. His walls are plastered with sketches of outfits and colour patterns. He even has a mannequin that's currently wearing a male blazer that's in the works. It's more of a designer's workshop than anything, right now.
"This is amazing," she finds herself saying.
Kurt blushes slightly, and then closes the door behind him. Rachel feels a flare of panic, but she manages to squash it down when he doesn't move towards her. Instead, he walks to his desk and lifts his Calculus textbook into his arms. "Share the desk, or the floor?"
There's something to be said about the fact he doesn't suggest the bed, and she appreciates it, even if it makes her feel wary. Can he tell she's uncomfortable?
Breathing a sigh, she points to the floor.
Kurt chuckles.
"What?"
"Quinn prefers the floor as well," he says, shaking his head in amusement. "I swear, the number of times I've found her sprawled out on the carpet; you'd think she lived there."
There's a part of Rachel that both hates and loves hearing about Quinn. Of course, she wants to learn all she can about the blonde, but she just wishes she could learn from the source herself. She wishes desperately that Quinn would just speak to her, confide in her, let her help. "The carpet is comfortable," she eventually says as she finds an empty spot and settles down.
Kurt agrees. "It's even better when they turn on the underfloor heating," he says. "I swear, I've been known to drag my duvet off my bed and just sleep on the floor."
Rachel giggles.
"I'll suffer through a stiff back for warmth any day," he adds as he too settles on the floor opposite her. He's facing her, his body open to her to show he means no harm. Whether it's conscious or not, she appreciates it.
It's the first time she accepts that she could become really good friends with him.
"You have no idea what you're doing, do you?"
Rachel hums, her forehead creased in a thoughtful frown. "I'm going to figure it out," she declares. She's lying on her stomach now, propped up on her elbows with her feet swinging through the air. They're working on a past paper and they're... struggling.
"I thought you said you were good at Calculus," he grumbles.
"I distinctly remember not saying that," she counters. "I said I could help, and I intend to do so."
He sighs, leaning back and resting his weight on his palms as he stretches his legs out in front of him. He expects Quinn to come find them soon so he's less irritated with his own inability to figure out the problem than he should be. Quinn will know what to do, and she'll know exactly how to explain it to him in a way he'll immediately understand. She's good at that, being patient and careful with her words.
Well, when she's not.
"You two had another fight today, didn't you?" Kurt suddenly says, startling Rachel.
She looks at him, immediately knowing about whom he's talking, but she still fakes not understanding. "Excuse me?"
He resists the urge to roll his eyes. "You and Quinn," he says. "You fought."
"We did."
"Why?"
"It was stupid," she dismisses.
"Oh, I'm sure of that," he says, chuckling. "Most of your fights generally are."
Rachel doesn't respond because she gets the feeling there's something else more important that he wants to discuss with her, so she waits, and she's not disappointed.
"Does - does she talk to you?" he asks, his voice quiet, as if he's worried Quinn will somehow hear him.
"What do you mean?"
Kurt straightens his spine, bringing his legs towards him and clutching his knees against his chest. "I know you know what I'm talking about, Rachel," he says. "There's something she's constantly fighting, and she never talks to me about it. All she does is discuss school and other students. She goes on runs all the time, and - " his voice catches. "It's in her eyes, isn't it?"
Rachel's feet stop swinging, and her breathing slows. "It is, yeah."
"She's deeply unhappy."
"She is, yeah."
Kurt breathes out slowly. "But, when you two fight, she comes alive."
Rachel chuckles darkly. "We do what we have to."
"All I want to do is help her," he says. "I want to make it better but I don't know how to do that when she won't even talk to me."
"She will," Rachel says. "I don't know when or how or why, but she will."
"I just hate to think about what might have to happen for her to resort to that."
And, well, he's not the only one.
When the knock on the door comes, Rachel instantly tenses, and then relaxes when Quinn opens the door without waiting for a response. If she's surprised to see Rachel on Kurt's floor, she doesn't show it. In fact, she grins at them both as she moves into the room, her hair slightly damp and her body hidden by Dalton sweatpants and a pale blue t-shirt.
"Well, aren't you two a sight?" she says, dropping onto the carpet on Rachel's left side. "Panicking about tomorrow?"
Kurt shoots her a glare. "Not all of us are AP geniuses," he grumbles, and Quinn's grin grows. "Stop that."
Quinn chuckles because she can't help it. "What can I do to help?" she asks, though her eyes remain on Kurt. She doesn't trust herself to look at Rachel, even if she desperately wants to.
Kurt shifts closer but not close enough to make her uncomfortable. How he ended up in a study session with two girls who clearly have proximity issues, he'll never know. At least, he sort of understands Rachel's - anyone who saw those flyers would - but Quinn is still a mystery to him. He's convinced she always will be, and maybe that's okay.
As expected, Quinn figures out the problem easily and the three of them settle in to complete the paper. Quinn ends up borrowing one of Rachel's mechanical pencils and she keeps it tucked behind her ear whenever she's not using it, hidden in blonde locks. Rachel finds herself staring at it a little too often, and she's just glad Quinn and Kurt are too preoccupied with the work they're doing to notice. She wouldn't even know how to explain her observation of the perfect curve of Quinn's ear.
Rachel forces herself to snap out of it.
Seriously.
You have a test to study for.
When Quinn lets out her first yawn, Rachel has to force herself not to stupidly blurt out how adorable she is. She bites her tongue as the blonde stretches, her arms high in the air and her sock-covered toes curling. Rachel could probably stare at her forever.
"Time for bed?" Kurt questions.
Quinn's eyes are slightly glassy when she nods her head. It's doubtful she's going to get much sleep, but she's still going to try. "I think so. Any last questions?"
"Just one," Rachel says, sliding her exercise book towards Quinn.
Quinn leans forward, absently resting her elbows on the tops of her thighs... and winces. It's a minimal reaction but Rachel sees it. She sees it and she just knows. Quinn's eyes widen and she shifts awkwardly.
Rachel takes her book back. "Actually, you know what, it's okay," she says. "It's getting late, anyway. If I don't know it by now, it's unlikely I'll figure it out anyway."
Quinn chuckles nervously. "Yeah," she says, rising to her feet. "Good luck tomorrow, guys. Goodnight."
"Quinn!" Rachel suddenly calls out. "Wait, will you? Let me walk you back to your room."
There isn't even a hint of a question in her voice, and Quinn just isn't in the mood to fight with her. Not over this, whatever it is, and particularly not in front of Kurt.
So, instead, she lingers while Rachel packs up her things and also gets up. They both say another goodnight to Kurt and then make the short walk through the corridors towards their rooms in silence. Quinn's fingers fidget as she waits for the inquisition that's surely to come.
Quinn is able to get to her room, open the door and actually get inside by the time Rachel says something.
Well, she does something.
Before Quinn can even say goodnight, Rachel is charging into her room after her and closing the door behind them. She keeps moving, forcing Quinn to step back with every stride forward. When the backs of her legs hit her bed, Quinn drops down, and Rachel immediately gets onto her knees in front of her.
"Are you going to show me, or am I going to have to see for myself?"
Quinn's eyes bug out. "Rachel," she squeaks.
"Show me."
"No."
Rachel sighs. "Quinn, please."
She shakes her head. "I can't do that. I can't."
"You can," she presses. "It's just me, okay? Let me see. Please."
Quinn closes her eyes as she bites the inside of her cheek until she draws blood. She doesn't give a verbal response; just nods.
Rachel takes the cue and reaches for the waistband of Quinn's sweatpants. A tiny part of her brain registers how sexual this could be, but her eyes are laser-focused on seeing what she knows is there. Slowly, she pulls down, and Quinn lifts herself up to allow her to slide the pants down.
Even though Rachel knows what's coming, she can't help the gasp she lets out at the sight of darkly bruised skin and ugly red streaks marring the perfect flesh of the uppermost part of her thighs. "Oh, Quinn," she chokes out.
Quinn keeps her eyes closed, refusing to acknowledge anything about this moment.
With the gentlest fingers, Rachel traces the lines. "I'm sorry," she whispers, unsure what she's even apologising for. "I'm so sorry you hurt the way you do." All she wants to do is make it better, but she doesn't know how. "Don't move," she says, and then gets up. She walks dazedly across the large corridor to her own bedroom to get her personal first aid kit and a stress ball. She's unsure if the latter is for her or Quinn.
When she gets back to the room, Quinn is curled into a ball on her side, her body trembling, and Rachel chokes back a sob. "Quinn," she immediately says. "Stretch out for me, okay? I need to make sure these are clean. Can you do that?"
It takes a bit of coaxing but Quinn eventually relents, and Rachel places the stress ball in her hand. As carefully as she can, Rachel wets a cotton ball with disinfectant and carefully wipes at the marks on Quinn's thighs.
And on her stomach.
It's an accident that she sees them at all, Quinn's t-shirt riding up, and she lets out another gasp at the sight of the bruises. She imagines Quinn must pinch and punch herself, and she's still too terrified to attempt to figure out why.
When she's finished, Rachel redresses her and covers her in a light blanket. She stays kneeling at the edge of the bed as Quinn stares at her with those same haunted eyes that have been giving her nightmares. "You have to stop," she says.
"I know."
"I know you know," she murmurs. "You need to stop."
"I'm trying."
Rachel closes her eyes, her hand automatically reaching out to touch Quinn's cheek. "Get some sleep," she says. "We'll talk more in the morning."
They don't.
It isn't as if Rachel doesn't try.
She does.
Every day.
It's a feat in itself to get Quinn alone and, even then, the blonde acts aloof and guarded. She makes it very clear to Rachel that she doesn't want to talk about it.
At all.
And Rachel would do well to accept that.
She doesn't.
She can't.
She's determined to talk to Quinn, and the blonde is determined not to.
So, they fight.
Endlessly.
It goes on and on, Rachel pushing and Quinn pushing right back.
Both of them hurting.
"Why do you look like you haven't slept in five hundred days?" Santana asks, dropping into the seat beside her friend at breakfast in the dining hall.
Rachel rubs her eyes of sleep, her heart jumping. "Probably because I haven't."
"What's up with you?"
"Oh, so many things," she mutters, her eyes automatically flicking Quinn's way. She can't even be mad at her because, frankly, Rachel believes she too would have shut down the 'conversation' the way Quinn has been able to do so effectively. Then: "Do I actually have to drag you to choir practice today or are you going to come willingly?"
Santana scoffs. "I still don't know why you signed me up for that shit," she says, showing her irritation. "I can't even sing."
"Liar," she accuses. "Just come to one practice, okay? It's fun."
"I highly doubt that."
"Please," she says, batting her tired eyelashes. "If you don't like it, you can quit."
She groans, as if this is a huge self-sacrifice. "If I must," she says; "and don't think I'm going to forget you said that."
"I won't," she says.
"Why the sudden interest in the choir anyway?" Santana asks. "If I recall correctly, you weren't in it last year."
Rachel presses her lips together, trying to determine the best way to explain herself. "I stopped singing," she eventually says. "After… everything that happened, I stopped singing, and I spent part of the summer trying to get back to it. It's something I love, and I hated that it was something else that was taken away from me."
Santana merely nods.
"I love to sing," she says. "And dance. I've always loved it, and I'm allowing myself to enjoy it again. Dalton has a great Cultural program, and I have great, great plans."
Santana eyes her thoughtfully. "You got really menacing there, for a second," she says, hit, once more, by the feeling that she doesn't know Rachel at all.
"Plans, Santana," she almost sings. "I have so many plans."
In terms of extracurriculars, Rachel's are heavily culturally-based. At Dalton, however, she has to participate in at least two sessions of physical activity a week, which she easily does by signing up for a modern dance class. It's one of the perks she was never afforded at her school in Wallingford, and also one of the reasons she even picked this one.
She doesn't really think about any of the other reasons.
On Mondays, Rachel sings with the large school choir. It consists of both boys and girls, all their voices blending together at the hands of their choir director, Jesse St James. He's young and obviously talented, and it's no secret to any of them that he likes Rachel's voice. It's big and bold and smooth and caressing, and it's easy to fall in love with it.
It's one of the reasons she's fast-tracked to join the school's elite show choir, The ConChords. It's a relatively small group of only eighteen students, consisting of the best singers in the school. And, now that Rachel has finally let herself accept her talent and actually sing again, she's an integral part of Jesse's plans for National Show Choir domination.
It just so happens he's a part of hers, as well.
Quinn is also in the choir. She joined as a freshman, back when she was still wet behind the ears and she was convinced she understood the world. It was fun for her, and a way for her to meet the school's cultural requirements without having to do too much. She's just a voice in the background, blending and harmonising.
Choir is choir, and she's obligated to attend the practices every Monday after school.
That's what it is.
An obligation.
Until, Rachel Berry, that is.
Quinn knows for a fact the girl wasn't in the choir last year. In fact, she's sure Rachel did everything she could to stay under the radar until she made the decision to run for Head Student. Quinn didn't even know she could sing, so, when Jesse invites her to sing the solo for the ensemble piece they're working on; Quinn is convinced she dies a little.
Rachel's voice steals something from her.
That's what she is.
Rachel Berry is a thief, just taking and taking: her breath, her thoughts, and now a piece of her soul.
While Rachel moves onto ConChords' practice after Jesse dismisses the large choir, Quinn ducks into the music centre for her piano lesson with her teacher, Dr Baron. The woman is old and charismatic, constantly pushing Quinn to be better and talking about her granddaughter on a loop.
Quinn genuinely likes the woman because Dr Baron makes it easy. She's easy-going, open and true, and it's a combination that's always made Quinn wary. In the type of life she lives, it's difficult to take anyone at face value, but Dr Baron is different. She doesn't know Quinn, and the blonde suspects that makes all the difference in the world.
"Quinn?"
She freezes mid-step, schools her features and turns to look at Rachel. "Hey," she says; "what's up?"
Without spooking the blonde, she takes a slow step forward. "I just wanted to say thank you."
Quinn frowns. "For what?"
"All your help for that Calculus test," she says. "I got my mark back. Apparently, I'm not as hopeless as I initially feared."
At the sound of that, Quinn's mouth tilts upwards into an easy smile. "I'm glad to hear that," she says, relaxing slightly. "And, you're welcome. I'm glad I could help."
"You're actually a really good tutor."
Quinn arches an eyebrow. "Try not to sound so surprised," she comments.
Rachel instantly flushes. "No, I just mean - uh - I don't even know what I mean." She sighs. "You're just good at it," she finishes lamely.
"Thank you."
Rachel knows she shouldn't push. They're having their first, easy conversation since that night a little over two weeks ago, and she would do well to enjoy this moment. But, alas, Rachel is Rachel and she doesn't heed her own warning.
All she has to say is 'Quinn' in that voice, and the ease of Quinn's demeanour instantly vanishes. She tenses, her face twisting into something passive, and she begins her escape
"I should go," Quinn immediately says, and Rachel wants to kick herself.
Rachel steps forward. "Okay," she says; "I know you don't want to talk about it, and I'm definitely not going to force you, but answer me this: have you stopped?"
Quinn's eyes narrow, growing noticeably harder.
"Tell me you've stopped," Rachel forces out, her hands twitching at her sides to stop herself from reaching out. Now that she knows what Quinn's skin feels like under her fingertips, close proximity is exponentially more dangerous, because all she wants to do is touch. "Please."
Quinn falters at the sincerity in her voice. "I have stopped," she says, almost conspiratorially.
Rachel can see the truth in her eyes, but there's something else there, as well. She might have stopped this, but that isn't to say she hasn't found other ways to hurt herself.
Sometimes, people are entirely too good at that.
Rachel would know and, for some reason, she just knows Quinn is an expert.
"Why do you care so much?" Quinn suddenly asks, surprising them both.
"I just do."
"But, why?"
Rachel sighs. "I don't know what to tell you," she confesses, somewhat truthfully. "It's for any number of reasons that you may or may not believe, but I do care, Quinn, and I don't want to see you in pain."
Quinn swallows audibly. "Who are you?"
"Still don't know anything about me, do you?"
"I'm trying," she replies, which they both know isn't a response to Rachel's question.
And, the thing is, she definitely is trying, and Rachel can't help feeling slightly smug that maybe, somehow, in her little fantasy, that, one day, Quinn won't have to try so hard anymore.
Quinn and Rachel's biggest fight occurs a little over a week before the Halloween dance. It happens during a class meeting while they're discussing the general theme for the event, and the suggestions are Zombie Apocalypse, Ancient Egypt and Frankenstein's Lair. If Quinn is being honest, she's not keen on any of them. She thinks the same part of her that gets nauseous on planes makes her queasy in front of body parts and general gore, even if she knows it's all fake.
They're just supposed to pick a theme and finalise the members of the committee, so they can get started on preparations. If she can help it, she'll be involved as little as possible, just acting in the capacity of overseer.
Rachel stands next to Quinn, just a step behind her, as she addresses their peers in the auditorium. It's the end of a long day, and she's irritable and exhausted. It's a heady combination, and she can feel something sparking as she stands and listens to Quinn run this meeting in that infuriatingly efficient way she always does. She's always so put together, hiding who she is, and it annoys Rachel to no end.
Rachel doesn't know how or why it even starts, but it does. She thinks she makes a comment about Quinn's controlling nature under her breath that Quinn must hear because she stops speaking mid-word. Her eyes flick Rachel's way for a moment, before she clears her throat and continues to go over the themes. They're planning on putting it to a vote.
In the end, they decide on Zombie Apocalypse, which the class seems excited about. Quinn will bear it all, as long she can get the committee of ten people on board. The list fills up quickly, and she's forced to add extra slots to the team, because how much can it hurt to have more people involved? Kurt and Blaine, as part of the Spirit portfolio, are taking point, and she hands over the meeting to them, stepping back.
Closer to Rachel.
For a moment, Quinn isn't sure what to say. She thinks it would do them well to ignore the comment about control completely, but it's just hanging in the air between them and Quinn feels off-balance.
"Do you know we have a bunker on our property in case there is a Zombie Apocalypse?" Rachel suddenly says, and Quinn turns incredulous eyes on her. "Oh, we're very prepared."
Quinn's eyes narrow. "And you call me the anal one," she says, letting her irritation show.
Rachel sighs. "Yeah, about that," she says, intending to apologise... and then just not doing it. She knows Quinn overcorrects to make up for some insecurity she has based on who she is, and Rachel, well, she pushes.
And, true to form, Quinn pushes right back, saying hurtful words she won't even remember saying... right in front of their entire grade.
Neither of them seems to care and it quickly explodes into something ugly; something neither of them is particularly proud of. They're quick, well-placed jabs that end with Rachel calling Quinn a heartless, stuck-up bitch who has too many control issues to have any real friends. It's a low blow and Quinn looks particularly stricken by the words, and the guilt immediately slams into Rachel.
The brunette blinks rapidly, the apology on the tip of her tongue.
Quinn steps back, schooling her features. She ignores the gaping mouths and wide eyes of her peers and focuses, instead, on Kurt. "Can you handle this?" she asks, her tone clipped.
Swallowing audibly, he just nods.
And then Quinn walks out, her head high. It's not that she's fleeing or escaping. She's merely walking out, and then all eyes are on Rachel. She sighs.
Well, of course.
She waits patiently as Kurt sees out the rest of the meeting, and then she flees. Her mind is spinning and she's exhausted. They've never fought that way before. She's never attacked Quinn like that, and she wants to kick herself for losing patience and her cool like that.
It's the kind of fight that, when it finally catches up to Rachel and she gets to the safety of her room, makes her burst into tears.
It's just... everything.
She hasn't been getting enough sleep. Between her extracurriculars and schoolwork and the nightmares, she's running on minimal amount of rest, and she's sure Quinn isn't faring any better if the dark circles under her eyes are anything to go by.
Still.
This fight hurts in ways the others never have because, this time, it wasn't even a little bit about the challenge or pushing her to be better. No, it's none of that at all. In fact, it probably isn't even about Quinn in any way.
It's about Rachel.
"Miss Fabray, please come in."
Quinn swallows nervously, her heart stuttering in her chest. "You wanted to see me, Sir."
Mr Schuester looks up from the document in front of him and offers her a warm smile as she settles into a chair opposite him. "I believe we have a little something to discuss," he says, his voice gentle.
Almost as if it's a habit, Quinn glances over her shoulder at the door to his office... that is still open. Okay. She's fine. "Are you referring to the disagreement I had with Rachel?" she asks carefully.
"I am."
Quinn deflates slightly. "I know I assured you everything would be... fine," she says. "And, I suppose, for the most part, it is. We just caught each other on a rough day. I'm sorry it manifested in such an ugly way. I promise it won't happen again."
"It probably will."
"No, Sir," she argues softly. "We'll definitely fight, sure, because we're both stubborn and determined and hotblooded, but it will never be like that again."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because," she says. "For all I've ever done in my life, I've never wanted to hurt, and I intend never to do that to Rachel ever again."
It's not the response he's expecting and, for the longest time, he's not sure what to make of it. "Well, okay," he finally says. "That should be all."
Slowly, Quinn rises to her feet. "Thank you, Sir," she says, and then starts to walk out. She's almost to the door when he calls out for her and she spins to face him. "Sir?"
"Do you hurt?" he asks, his gaze meeting hers.
Quinn smiles sadly. "All the time."
"Something is wrong with me," Rachel declares, flinging open Brittany's door and stepping inside. She closes it behind her but makes no move any further into the room. She spies her blonde friend sitting at her own desk, working on something on her laptop.
"And you've just now figured that out," Brittany teases, barely looking away from her screen.
"Shut up," she mutters. "I need your help."
At this, Brittany does look up, her blue eyes searching. "What's wrong?" she asks.
"Quinn isn't talking to me."
Brittany frowns. "I thought she never talked to you, anyway."
"No, she used to talk to me, sort of," she explains. "It wasn't anything profound and it was mainly to do with the prefects or schoolwork, but it's different now. Now, she says nothing. Nothing, Britt. Not even a hello, how are you. Zilch. Nada. Zip. I may as well not even exist."
"Well, can you blame her?" Brittany says, offering no sympathy. "You did say some pretty nasty things."
Rachel bristles. "She did too."
"As a response to feeling attacked," she clarifies. "We both know she was always going to do that."
"So, what is she doing now, oh ye God of Quinn Fabray?"
Brittany rolls her eyes in a very Santana-like way. "She's protecting herself," she says, as if it's the simplest thing in the world. "She's doing it the only way she knows how."
Rachel lets out a long-suffering groan. "But I haven't talked to her in days. Surely, she's forgiven me by know."
"Have you even said you're sorry?"
Rachel drops her gaze.
Brittany chuckles. "Something is wrong with you."
Rachel shakes her head. "That isn't meant to be funny," she says. "I honestly do feel as if something is wrong with me. I feel sick and unsettled and why isn't she talking to me?" She sounds miserable, and Brittany's eyebrows rise in quiet understanding.
Oh.
Rachel looks at her with questions in her eyes. "Why does she continually do this to me?" she asks, her voice catching.
Maybe it's meant to be a rhetorical question, but Brittany still answers, saying the one thing to send Rachel into even more of a tailspin.
"Maybe she likes you."
It's absurd, of course, because no.
Just, no.
There's no way.
Rachel presses her lips together, refusing to admit to anyone that she's definitely thought about it. "Britt, you have to stop saying things like that," she says, pressing her palms against the door. "Quinn does not like me. Neither does Brett, Jessica, Greg or that other boy you're convinced was ogling me during lunch the other day."
"Harry."
Rachel sighs. "You've been wrong about all of them, and you're wrong about this too."
Brittany twists in her chair to look at Rachel with knowing, insightful eyes. It's terrifying, and Rachel feels as if she's two feet tall. "Maybe I am," she finally says, relenting. "But, I will tell you this, Rach: there's a reason you get under her skin the way you do."
"Well, obviously," she scoffs. "I'm the only one who dares to challenge her."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why are you the only one to challenge her?" Brittany questions, sounding entirely too calm about this entire thing.
"Because she asked me to," she immediately says.
"Oh, come now, we both know that's not it."
Rachel shakes her head. "It can't be anything else," she argues. "I do it because she asked. It's not as if I actually enjoy doing it."
"Tisk, tisk, Rachel," Brittany says, giving her a skeptical look. "Let's not start lying now."
The air in her lungs escapes her and she sags against the door. "Okay, so, maybe I do enjoy it a little," she confesses quietly. "I like the challenge. I've always liked the challenge."
"So, this is about the challenge, and not about Quinn?"
"Exactly."
"Okay."
Rachel does a double take. "Okay?"
"Was there something else?"
Rachel growls in annoyance as she pushes off the door and moves towards her friend. "You're supposed to be helping me," she says. "Why aren't you helping me?"
"There's only so much I can do when you're refusing to help yourself," she says. "I don't know what else you want me to tell you."
Rachel throws herself on Brittany's bed, her forearm coming to rest over her eyes. "I miss her," she confesses, whispering the words into the air. "I don't even know what I could possibly even miss about her, but I do. I miss all of her."
Brittany looks on with sympathy. "Then I suggest you talk to her," she says. "Say you're sorry, talk it out, and maybe you'll both come out better for it."
Rachel groans. "What if she hates me?" she asks. "I mean, I literally called her a heartless bitch in front of our entire grade. That kid, Jacob, even wrote an article about our discourse in the school paper."
"All the more reason to talk to Quinn."
"Santana said Mr Schuester even called Quinn into his office about our fight," she says. "What if I get fired?"
Brittany chuckles. "Has anyone ever told you that you're dramatic?"
Rachel peeks at her from under her arm. "All the time."
"Just talk to her."
"Is that all you have for me?"
"Short of suggesting that you're the one who probably likes her, yeah, that's all I have."
Rachel freezes, suddenly grateful her face is half-hidden by her arm. Did she - did she just say that? Rachel isn't even sure how she's supposed to recover from that... accusation. Does Brittany expect a response? Because, honestly, Rachel doesn't think she has one.
Still, she attempts to gather herself, sits up and looks at her friend. She's just about to speak when Brittany raises her hand to silence her.
"Don't," she warns. "Don't call it absurd or ridiculous. Whatever your thoughts on the matter, don't insult us both by denying it."
Rachel's shoulders slump. "When did you get so smart?"
"I've always been smart," she says easily; "you just weren't paying attention."
Rachel loses patience with herself - and Quinn - the night before the Halloween dance. She's all bravado as she exits her own bedroom, but she's a shaking mess by the time she's crossed the corridor to Quinn's room. Her hands are clammy and her heart is thundering in her chest. She calls on all her courage to lift her hand and knock on the door.
"Come in."
Rachel sighs. She was kind of hoping that Quinn would actually answer the door. Maybe if she just waits out here for a while, Quinn will be forced to -
The door opens.
Rachel's breath catches.
Quinn looks equally taken aback. "Rachel," she breathes in surprise before she clears her throat. There isn't a smile in sight. "Are you - umm - is everything okay?"
She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. "No, Quinn," she says, all of it just coming tumbling out. "Everything is not okay, because we haven't spoken in a while and I hate it, and I'm sorry, okay? I know I'm mainly to blame for, well, everything, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Quinn instantly deflates. "Oh, Rachel," she murmurs. "I'm sorry, too."
"I was convinced you must hate me, and just the idea of never talking to you again is..." she trails off.
"Yeah," Quinn quietly agrees. "It's been a strange couple of days. I didn't realise how much time we actually spend together."
"I'm your Deputy," she says easily. "It's my job."
Her faces pinches, as if she doesn't like what she's hearing. "Yeah."
Rachel feels the melancholy roll off the blonde, and she risks a step forward. All she wants to do is reach out and touch her; reassure her in some way. "I don't want to fight like that ever again."
"Ditto," Quinn says, sucking in a breath. "We won't."
"No, we won't."
Quinn manages a small smile. "The dance looks like it's coming along nicely," she says. "I just got back from the Great Hall, and they're just finishing up with the final touches."
There's something in her voice that forces Rachel to take yet another step forward. "Are you not going?"
Quinn ducks her head slightly. "Honestly?"
"Always."
"I was hoping I would be able to skip it," she confesses; "but I don't think the Head Student not showing up would be very school pride, you know?"
"Probably not," she agrees, "Why wouldn't you want to go?"
Quinn nibbles at her bottom lip, visibly thinking about her response. "I think it's the idea of wearing a costume," she finally says; "the entire idea of disguising your identity and hiding behind a mask."
Rachel remains silent, her eyes never straying from Quinn's perfect face.
"I guess I do that enough in real life; I don't need a special holiday," she adds with a shrug, as if she's revealed nothing remotely profound.
"I get that," Rachel finds herself saying.
Quinn hums. "I think you do."
They stare at each other for the longest time and, the moment Rachel reaches out for her; Quinn flinches. It's nothing to do with the brunette, they're both sure, but it doesn't make the hurt or guilt any less.
"I'm sorry," Rachel says, automatic and true.
"No," Quinn says. "I'm sorry."
Rachel shakes her head. "I think this conversation has had enough apologies."
"I agree," she mumbles. Then: "I assume you're going to the dance?"
She rolls her eyes. "Santana and Brittany are dragging me," she says. "I've been forced to relinquish power over my costume to them."
"That sounds terrifying."
"I'm completely freaked out of my mind."
Quinn laughs lightly, the light reaching her eyes in a way that steals Rachel's breath. If Quinn is going to keep smiling at her that way, she's going to end up doing everything she possibly can to make sure it stays. "It should be interesting for the rest of us, then," she teases gently, and it takes everything Rachel has not to reach out again.
Instead, her hands twitch at her sides. "It should," she agrees.
It's definitely going to be interesting.
When Rachel finally escapes the hurricane of emotions she's feeling in Quinn's presence, she doesn't return to her own room. Instead, she makes her way to Brittany's, needing the insight only her surprising blonde friend can offer.
Rachel knocks once, opens the door and slips inside to find both Brittany and Santana sprawled out on the bed. Santana is fiddling with something on her phone and Brittany is threading her fingers through the brunette's hair. It's a picture of ease, and Rachel loves it.
"You were right," Rachel suddenly says, her eyes on Brittany. "But, you were also wrong."
"Oh?"
"It's more than that," she whispers, as if the confession is too profound to say in a normal voice. It might be, for all she knows, because she should not be feeling more than 'like' for a girl she can never have.
And, when she realises that, her face crumples.
Her body follows a beat later.