Chapter Fourteen
"You are not coming to watch us sing."
Rachel is adamant, really, but Quinn just looks at her with that knowing smirk that always manages to make her feel hot all over.
"Why not?" Quinn asks, pouting ever so slightly.
"Don't do that," Rachel huffs. "Don't, Quinn. It's not going to work on me."
"It's not?"
Rachel shakes her head as she crosses the room towards her girlfriend. Quinn is sitting in her desk chair, spun around to face Rachel at the door, with an eyebrow arched in expectation. "Jesse just told me the Head Student organised for a bus to take students to Contreras to watch the ConChords perform at Sectionals this Saturday."
Quinn feigns innocence. "Fancy that?" she murmurs, shrugging slightly.
"Quinn."
"Rachel."
Breathing a sigh, Rachel settles her body on Quinn, straddling her legs and slipping her arms around her neck. "You are not coming to watch us sing."
"Uh, I think the fact my name is on the list proves otherwise," Quinn says, her hands finding purchase on Rachel's hips. "As students of this here establishment, you and your teammates deserve as much, if not more, support than any other sport or cultural at this school."
Rachel sighs dramatically. "But an entire bus, Quinn?"
She shrugs. "I had to do something. I couldn't really advocate for only myself going to watch my oh-so-gorgeous girlfriend light up the stage, now could I?"
Despite her slight indignation, Rachel blushes brightly.
Quinn runs a gentle hand along the left side of her body. "Why don't you want me to come?"
Slowly, Rachel meets her gaze, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth in thought. "I - I stopped singing after… everything," she begins to explain. "I couldn't bring myself to do it until the start of this year. I - I think it might have had something to do with you, but please don't let that go to your head."
"I won't," Quinn interjects.
"Starting with the choir this school year has been… good for me," she says. "The large ensemble has helped, and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to sing with the ConChords when Jesse asked. I just - " she stops. "This will be the first time I perform for an audience in more than a year, and I'm - " she stops again.
Quinn regards her carefully. "Are you nervous?"
She sighs, dropping her forehead to rest against Quinn's shoulder. "I'm Rachel Berry. I don't get nervous."
"That's not what I asked."
She swallows audibly. "I guess I am," she confesses. "A little bit, anyway."
"And it's making it worse knowing I'm going to be in the audience?"
Rachel doesn't want to say yes, but they're trying to be honest with each other, so she just nods.
"Okay," Quinn says, her face not giving away any of her emotions. "I won't come, but there's still an entire bus of students going to support you. That part isn't negotiable because, frankly, I wouldn't even know how to explain that to Mr Schuester. Particularly after I turned on the charm to get it in the first place." She hums in thought. "Did you know he used to be a show choir director at his old school?"
"No ways?"
"He told me himself."
Rachel lifts her head, visibly thinking. "I don't see it," she confesses. "He's so… stiff."
Quinn smiles softly, her lips pressing a gentle kiss to Rachel's cheek. "You should ask Santana to tell you her theory on that."
Rachel makes note of it with a gentle hum, and then proceeds to kiss the air right out of her girlfriend's lungs in an attempt to ease the sting of rejection Quinn will never show her.
Rachel doesn't get around to asking Santana about her supposed theory until two days later. It isn't as if she hasn't had the opportunity. In fact, she and Santana have seen a lot of each other, and Rachel realises it's because she's seen very little of Quinn.
Which, she suddenly knows, is probably by design.
Even though Quinn won't explicitly say it - not to her face, at least - Rachel knows there's a part of the blonde that feels a little hurt by Rachel's request for her not to attend the ConChord's performance. She saw it in the way Quinn's face gave nothing away when she agreed to stay away, and she's unsure how to make up for it without reversing her request.
There's also very little she can do when her girlfriend is avoiding her.
"Hey, San?"
Santana looks over at her friend, fully accepting the opportunity not to have to focus on her Biology textbook. She's sporting a bit of a headache, and she wants nothing more than to leave the library and curl up in bed with Brittany. It's cold enough for her to get away with it.
"What's up?" Santana says, cocking her head to the side.
"Quinn mentioned that you have this theory about Mr Schuester," she says, and then laughs at the way Santana's face literally lights up. "Do you know why he gives off the vibe he's soulless?"
Santana snorts in amusement. "Why are you always so dramatic?"
Rachel ignores her. "Tell me."
Santana leans forward. "So, before he came to be Headmaster here, he used to teach at this school in Ohio, right? William McKinley."
"Do I even want to know how you found that out?"
"Probably not," she dismisses. "Anyway, he was a Spanish teacher there, which is just the funniest thing I've ever heard. Have you ever heard him speak Spanish?"
Rachel can't say she has, but she remains silent.
"We both know the only reason people pack up their entire lives and move to a new state is to run from something," she says, which is a truth entirely too close to Rachel. She practically did the same thing, though she's still in the same state - well, this time. "Obviously, I did my research - I'm actually rather good at it - and I found out that he was actually married."
Rachel's heart lurches, absently wondering if something terrible ended up happening to Mr Schuester's wife. That would be horrible.
"It turns out that his wife was pregnant," she says, which doesn't help with Rachel's sudden guilt for thinking so ill of him. No wonder the man is 'soulless.' "Well, that's what she wanted everyone to think, anyway."
Rachel frowns. "What?"
"Apparently, they were having marital problems, and she was convinced he was going to leave her, so she faked a pregnancy to keep him."
Rachel can't even believe what she's hearing. It sounds like something out of a soap opera.
"Of course, he eventually found out, and then they got divorced, and now he's here making all our lives miserable."
"You don't mean that," Rachel dismisses. "You like him."
She shrugs. "His wife did a pretty shitty thing, didn't she?"
"Yeah." She sighs. "Poor Mr Schuester."
Santana leans forward that bit more. "I think he's going to be okay," she says conspiratorially. "Between me and you, I think he has a thing for Miss Pillsbury."
Rachel's eyes widen. "Seriously?"
"Don't you see the way they look at each other?" She doesn't give Rachel a chance to respond as she says, "Oh, wait, that means you would have to look away from Quinn, and you're incapable of that."
Rachel responds by chucking her eraser across the table.
"Hey, Sam," Quinn calls out, stopping her fellow blonde in the corridor between classes. "Got a second?" she asks. "I have a favour to ask."
Sam, of course, comes to a halt and gives Quinn his full attention. It's no secret between the two of them that he's never quite been able to get over her, but they're both studiously ignoring that. "What's up?" he asks.
Quinn bites her bottom lip for a moment, suddenly unsure if she should go through with her request. She's setting herself up for something here, but he's someone she trusts more than anyone else, which is mainly because he knows more than the others. "You're going to watch the ConChords this weekend, right?"
Sam nods, tilting his head to the side expectantly. It'd be cute if Quinn was into that sort of thing. "I am," Sam verbally responds. "Blaine is kind of forcing me."
Quinn recalls the two boys being roommates before this year, but she's only recently come to know Blaine through their leadership positions. Blaine is a part of the ConChords, along with Kurt and, not for the first time, Quinn is tempted to say fuck it and just attend herself.
No.
Rachel doesn't want her there, and she's going to respect and accept that.
As awful as it makes her feel.
It isn't even that Rachel's asked her not to come that bothers her the most; it's the reasons why. Quinn imagines that Rachel was outspoken and fiery and wanting to be showered in applause before. She likes to think, in another world, Rachel might have asked her to come watch an endless number of times, and Quinn would have resisted, just to see the brunette pout and huff and possibly even storm out.
But, not in this world.
In this world, her girlfriend is nervous and apprehensive and hidden. Quinn hates it. She positively hates it, but she's unsure how to make it better for Rachel. She decided a long time ago that she was just going to be there, but Rachel obviously doesn't want that. It hurts, but Quinn is going to respect it.
"Quinn?" Sam prompts when she's been silent too long.
She offers him a sheepish smile. "Sorry," she mumbles. Then, clearer, she asks, "Do you think you could record the performance for me?"
He tilts his head to the side.
"It's just that Mr Schuester doesn't think it's a good idea for both his Heads to be off campus at the same time this close to Exams. I wanted to go and support Kurt and Rachel myself, but that isn't going to happen. I would have asked Blaine, but he's also singing, and - "
"Are you and Santana still not getting on?"
Quinn immediately tenses. "Are you saying you won't do it?" she asks, ignoring his question. "Because I can ask someone else."
"I didn't say that."
"I don't want to talk about Santana."
Sam holds his hands up in innocence. "Sorry," he says. "And, yes, I'll be sure to record the performance for you."
"Thank you," she says tightly.
It's when she's turning to walk away that he says her name, and she looks back at him over her shoulder. "I think you should ask Santana, anyway."
Quinn just scowls, and then keeps on walking.
Dealing with Santana Lopez is the last thing she needs right about now.
Rachel debates endlessly with herself about whether or not it's a good idea to say goodbye to Quinn early on Saturday morning. She knows the blonde is back from her morning run, and she suspects she's already studying at her desk.
If she tries hard enough, Rachel can convince herself to leave her be, claiming that she doesn't want to disturb her, but Rachel really wants to see her.
So, almost steeling herself, Rachel crosses the corridor to Quinn's room. She knocks quickly, and then enters the room to find her girlfriend sprawled out on her carpet. She's still in her running gear, slick with sweat, and Rachel has to force herself not to get too close, just in case she's unable to leave this bedroom or this girl.
Quinn's head turns towards her. "Aren't you supposed to be on a bus right about now?" Her tone is flat, lacking emotion, but Rachel can still hear that she's smarting.
Rachel sighs. "I don't want you to be mad at me."
"I'm not mad at you," Quinn says tiredly, moving to sit up and lean against the side of her bed. "I'm not," she repeats.
"But you are something?"
"Yeah," she mumbles. "I'm something."
Rachel glances down at her school uniform for a moment, and then decides she doesn't care. She crosses the room and settles herself in Quinn's lap, straddling her legs and supporting herself on her knees.
The blonde just watches her amusedly.
"You have to know that I do want you there, Quinn," she tries to explain. "I just - I think I need to do this on my own first, okay? I need to prove to myself that I can do it without my parents, or my brothers, or… you."
"But not Brittany or Santana?" Quinn finds herself asking, unable to stop herself.
Rachel's fingers slide into her damp hair, ignoring the sweat. "Do you have any idea what you mean to me?" she murmurs. "Do you have any idea how important you are?"
Quinn doesn't say anything.
Rachel almost tells her that she loves her, but she stops the words from tumbling out. She doesn't want to say them in an attempt to be placating. They're supposed to be special. "I'm sorry, okay?" she whispers. "I'm sorry." She doesn't know if Quinn would be receptive to a kiss, so she settles for pressing her lips to a warm forehead.
Sighing, she uses Quinn's uninjured shoulder as leverage to get to her feet but, before she can move away, Quinn's fingers clasp her own.
"I'm sorry, too," Quinn says. "I understand, I do. It just - "
"Sucks?"
Quinn shrugs. "I know you're going to kill it up there," she says. "Good luck, okay? Bring back a win for us."
Rachel grins at her, bending to kiss her lips when she offers them, and then starts to leave. Again, she wants to say those three words, but she settles for, "As if it's in any doubt."
"They were pretty good."
Santana looks over at Brittany, wishing she could refute the blonde's claim, but she can't. The first performers were decent enough, but the second ones were good. She knows the ConChords are borderline incredible, but it's still a worry. She's never actually heard them sing all together before.
Well, not since Rachel joined them.
Her attention drifts to the row behind her where Sam seems to be preparing his camera, and she smirks in his direction. "Did Blaine ask you to do that?" she asks.
Sam looks her way, puzzled. It takes a moment for his eyes to recognise her in the dark, and he mentally goes over what his next words are going to be. He doesn't want to lie, but he knows Quinn and Santana are at a very delicate time in their non-relationship.
"No," he eventually says.
"So, you're doing it for yourself?" she jokes. "Wanky."
Sam regards her carefully. "Right," he says, turning away.
Santana frowns, her gaze lingering on him for a long moment before she turns away. She feels unsettled for some reason, and she casts a quick glance back at Sam, but he doesn't seem to notice. She gets these feelings only when Quinn is involved, but she doesn't see how that could be.
The girl isn't even here.
"Introducing the ConChords, from Dalton Academy!"
Brittany literally bounces in her seat in anticipation, and Santana just smiles to herself. Whether it's because of Brittany or because of Rachel, she isn't able to tell, but she doesn't think it actually matters.
Now, Santana has heard Rachel sing before. When Rachel isn't being brought forward for a solo, they usually stand side by side in the school's main choir - they're kind of the same height, much to Santana's chagrin and Rachel's delight - so Santana almost knows what to expect.
She's wrong.
Just, so very wrong.
"Oh, my God," Brittany says from beside her the second Rachel takes centre stage - she's the soloist - and starts to sing.
It takes Santana a few seconds to recognise the song as Celine Dion's It's All Coming Back to Me Now, and her breath catches in her throat.
The entire auditorium grows still, and it's almost as if time freezes. As if it knows Rachel Berry is singing, and the entire world better stop and take notice because something magical is taking place.
Brittany reaches for Santana's hand and links their fingers.
Santana glances over her, forcing her eyes away from the girl on stage, and she's not surprised to find tears in Brittany's eyes. She wouldn't be surprised if she were to touch her own cheeks and find them wet.
Stupid Rachel and her stupid voice making her feel stupid things.
"She's amazing," Brittany whispers as Rachel goes into and holds the last note. Her voice gives away her emotions, but she keeps it together well, and it makes the entire performance that bit more.
When the song comes to an end, Rachel takes a small bow as the auditorium erupts in applause, and then steps back to get into position for the next number.
Santana is convinced whatever follows will pale in comparison, which, admittedly, isn't wildly inaccurate, but Kurt and Blaine's duet is pretty amazing. She doesn't recognise the song, but it's got a good tempo, and she finds her foot tapping along, which she will deny doing until her last breath.
The group number is equally spectacular, with nearly all the members being able to showcase their respective singing and dancing talents.
"I taught her that move," Brittany proudly says after Rachel does an intricate dance step with Blaine, and then proceeds to skip - yes, skip - across the stage. "And that one."
Santana just laughs softly as her fingers squeeze around Brittany's. "They're going to win, aren't they?" she asks the blonde.
Brittany smiles a dazzling smile at her, and it takes all her willpower not to lean across and just kiss her until neither of them can breathe. "Was it ever in any doubt?" Brittany asks, almost shrugging nonchalantly.
Santana is suitably charmed. "I suppose not, no."
Quinn isn't in her bedroom when Rachel goes looking for her as soon as she gets back to Dalton. She has news, and the first person she wants to tell is her girlfriend.
Only, said girlfriend is nowhere to be found, and Rachel finds herself returning to her own bedroom disappointed.
Rachel: Where are you? (This is me pouting, by the way.)
Huffing in mild annoyance, she throws her phone onto her bed and starts to change out of her uniform and into something a little more comfortable for the weekend (and for making out with Quinn).
She practically dives for her phone when it vibrates, and then groans.
Quinn: Mr S has me supervising afternoon detention. How did it go?
Rachel: I want to tell you in person.
Quinn: So, you won, then?
Rachel: QUINN!
Quinn: What? (This is me playing innocent, by the way.)
Rachel: When are you done being all good Head Student and what not? (We both know you could pawn it off to someone else.) I want to kiss you!
Quinn: Is that all you want, huh?
Quinn: I'm not all that GOOD when I'm sitting here texting you, now am I?
Rachel: Well, I beg to differ on that, Miss Fabray.
Rachel: And, no, I would like to do way MORE than just kiss you.
Quinn: Oh yeah? Like what?
Rachel: Na ah. Get your cute butt to my room, and I'll answer you in person.
Quinn: Your room doesn't have a key.
Rachel: And why would we need to be in a locked room, Quinn?
Quinn: You may think you're cute when you're acting coy, but you're really not.
Rachel: You take that back. I'm adorable.
Quinn: And modest.
Rachel: We totally won, by the way.
Quinn: Twenty minutes. My room. I have to congratulate you in person.
Rachel drops her phone onto her bed and sighs, her smile blinding.
These are going to be the longest twenty minutes of her life.
Quinn barely has time to close her door before she's being pushed up against it. She lets out an 'oomph,' and has just enough time to suck in a breath before she's being thoroughly kissed, Rachel's mouth hot and demanding in a way it's never been before.
Quinn's hands settle at her waist in an attempt to hold her still because, yeah, the squirming isn't helping.
Rachel pulls away a breathless minute later and glares at her. "You said twenty minutes," she accuses. "It's been twenty-seven."
Quinn chuckles softly, her fingers closing around the fabric of Rachel's sweater. "I'm a girl on demand, it would seem," she says. "So, you totally won, huh? Tell me all about it."
Rachel slips her hand into Quinn's, and then leads them to her bed. She urges Quinn to lie on her back, and then she climbs on top of her, spreading her entire body over her girlfriend's.
Quinn's lets out a steadying breath at the added weight, adjusting slightly, and then smiles widely. "Hi," she whispers.
"Hi." Rachel kisses her softly, rests her head on her chest, and then proceeds to tell her everything.
Quinn listens in silence, her fingers absently playing with strands of Rachel's loose hair. There's such a musical quality to Rachel's speaking voice, and Quinn finds herself closing her eyes as she soaks in every word the brunette is saying.
Her tone rises and falls, her excitement peaks, and her laugh is so infectious; Quinn feels as if her very heart is reaching out and introducing itself to Rachel's.
"It was amazing, Quinn," Rachel says, sounding breathless. "I felt amazing. Being back on that stage, it - it was like he couldn't even touch me. Not even in my mind."
Quinn smiles sadly, gently kissing the top of her head. "You did it, Rach."
"I did," she echoes, settling against Quinn again, her fingers tracing along the blonde's ribs.
"You really were wonderful," Quinn says.
"What?" she asks, lifting her head to look at Quinn's face.
"You were so amazing, Rach," she says, sliding her hands along Rachel's back.
"How do you know?"
"Besides the fact that you just told me?"
"Quinn."
She smiles mischievously. "I have my ways," she says, winking.
"Quinn."
She chuckles. "I had someone record it for me, and I watched it something like five thousand times, which is the reason I was seven minutes late meeting you. You were incredible. You are brilliant." She hugs Rachel closer and presses open-mouth kisses along her neck.
Rachel moans at the feeling, her eyes slipping shut as she tilts her head back to give Quinn better access. "Who did you have record it?" she just about manages to ask. She knows Kurt and Blaine were on stage with her, and Santana and Brittany definitely would have told her if Quinn asked either of them.
Quinn hesitates for a moment, her lips pausing. "Uh, well, I asked Sam."
Rachel pulls back slightly. "Oh."
Quinn eyes her carefully.
"Oh," she says again, sorting through her own feelings about the blonde boy she just can't seem to understand or escape. "Does - does he know about you?" she asks.
Quinn shakes her head.
"But you think he suspects something?"
Quinn sighs, dropping her head onto her pillow. "I try not to think about that," she finally says. "Particularly not when my girlfriend is literally lying on top of me."
"She's kind of hot, isn't she?" Rachel purrs, allowing them to cease the conversation about Sam.
"Kind of, yeah."
When Rachel sees Quinn emerge from the shed with her bicycle in tow, her answering grin practically splits her face, despite her own apprehension. Her girlfriend just looks happier and lighter than she's seen her in a little while.
Of course, though, Quinn can't actually ride, though she's started up with her running. Rachel has to admit that the physical exercise has made Quinn less tense but, then again, so have their make-out sessions.
Studies have shown that kissing can reduce stress, and Rachel is always willing to help Quinn with all the stress relief imaginable.
"Maybe we should just go for a run," Rachel suggests for the umpteenth time. She doesn't want to ride Quinn's bicycle when she can't. It just doesn't seem right, or something like that. "Please," she tacks on. "I just want to go on a run with you. And, possibly, I don't know, make out against a tree. I've always wanted to do that."
Quinn grins at her. "Oh, I see."
"It seems you do, Fabray."
Sighing dramatically, Quinn backtracks to return her bicycle to its home, and reemerges with a sly smile on her face. "Do you actually want to go on a run?" she asks knowingly; "or is this all some ploy to get me alone in the bushes?"
"What would you say if it were a bit of both?"
Quinn arches an eyebrow. "I'd say you were diabolical."
Rachel shrugs noncommittally. "I've been called worse."
Admittedly, Quinn isn't sure what to do with that information, so she says and does nothing. Instead, she steps towards Rachel, silently asking the question.
"I'm okay," Rachel says, smiling reassuringly. "Can we go?"
"Someone's eager," Quinn points out.
Rachel shakes her head. "Have you seen what my girlfriend looks like?" she asks. "Especially when she's wearing her running gear. I mean, she's just got these abs to die for, and the tightest shirts imaginable, and I - "
"Okay," Quinn interrupts. "We'll go. Let's go."
As soon as she gets back to her bedroom after their 'run,' Quinn strips herself of her clothes, chucking the items into the laundry basket she keeps behind the door to her bathroom. She can still feel Rachel's hands on her skin.
And her mouth.
Quinn can barely suppress her smile as she switches on her shower, turning the temperature to scorching. Her skin is already flushed with exertion and bubbling arousal, and she's starting to think that maybe she should be having a cold shower instead.
She and Rachel haven't really discussed much of anything regarding their own physical relationship, past relationships and the future of their own relationship. They're existing in this wonderful little bubble that Quinn is terrified is going to burst in an ugly way.
So, she'll hold onto this thing they have. She'll hold on as tightly as she can and hope they can figure it out together.
Somehow.
Quinn is just pulling on one of her Dalton sweatshirts when her phone rings, the sound making her entire body tense and her breath catch. Why would her mother be calling? At this time, no less?
Taking a steadying breath, Quinn makes her way to her desk and lifts her phone. For a moment, she's tempted not to answer, but she knows the woman will just keep calling. She's even called the front office once before when she called while Quinn was on a run.
The conversation that followed that was not at all pleasant.
Slowly, she slides her finger across the screen and brings the phone to her ear. "Hello, Mother," she says, keeping her voice cool and detached.
She has learned from the best, after all.
"Quinn, darling," Judy Fabray says, and Quinn's stomach drops.
Oh.
"How are you this evening?" Judy asks.
"I'm well," Quinn answers, as is part of the rehearsed formalities of conversations with her mother. "And, how are you? How is Father?"
"We're very well, dear," she says. "It's actually why I'm calling."
Quinn waits patiently.
"Your father and I have decided to take a vacation this Christmas," she says. "We're thinking somewhere abroad. Europe, maybe. France is good this time of year."
"I believe it is," Quinn says, playing the role of daughter well.
"Maggie is making the necessary bookings, and our plan is to leave this Sunday."
Quinn's features harden, but she says nothing. Sunday. That's before Quinn is scheduled to return home. In fact, school is supposed to close only the following Wednesday. "It's my understanding you will be returning to Hartford?"
"As far as I am aware, yes."
"I think that would be best," Judy says. "I suspect you've had a taxing semester, and you might like to have a good rest and recuperate in peace."
Quinn isn't naive enough not to read between the lines. They're going on this vacation without her. Over Christmas.
Leaving her, alone.
She's smarting at the sting of rejection. It's not as if she actually wants to go on vacation with her parents, but she would appreciate the option. Is that so much to ask?
"Of course," Quinn finds herself saying.
"We'll be back for the New Year's Eve party, of course," Judy says, as if Quinn is even worried about that. "We'll see you then, darling."
"Of course," Quinn says again, feeling numb. "Travel safely," she adds a moment later. "Give my regards to Father."
"I will."
Quinn takes in a slow breath, and then sighs. "Goodnight, Mother," she says, and then hangs up.
There's a wave of utter hurt and frustration that washes over her, which is quickly replaced with insurmountable rage. It takes over everything and, before she knows it, she's spinning around and throwing her phone at the wall as hard as she can.
It shatters.
Quinn doesn't care.
Until this moment, she hasn't given much thought to her Winter Break plans. She was always going to Hartford. She's usually gone to Hartford, when she's not going home with Santana.
But, just knowing that her parents don't -
Quinn crumples, her legs giving out and she finds herself sitting on her carpet, her knees clutched to her chest and her mind spinning. She starts to rock back and forth, trying to wrap her mind around the idea that she deserves this.
It's part of her penance.
Rachel finds Quinn in that position, steps faltering when she sees her. It takes her a moment to survey the room, seeing Quinn's destroyed phone and the unfinished dressing of her girlfriend. She isn't even wearing socks, and Quinn is always wearing socks.
Shutting the door behind her and locking it, Rachel crosses the room towards the rocking blonde, and kneels in front of her. She ducks her head, intending to catch Quinn's gaze, but she fails.
Even if Quinn is looking directly at her, she's not seeing her.
Risking contact, Rachel places her hands on Quinn's knees, her touch gentle. "Quinn," she whispers. "Quinn, please."
For the longest time, Quinn says nothing. They just stare at each other, one set of eyes pleading and the other unfocused.
Then: "Why do you like me?" Quinn asks, her voice barely audible.
Rachel breathes out in relief at the sound of her engaging, even if the question is so unexpected. "As in, you want a reason?" she asks for clarification. "The reason why I like you?"
Quinn nods, suddenly unable to look at her.
"There is no reason," Rachel says. "I believe there should be no reason. If you like someone because of a reason, what happens when that reason is gone? I don't intend for my heart to change, Quinn. I like you without a reason. I like you because you are you, and I realise that's difficult for you to believe, but it's the truth. I like you." She chuckles to herself. "Like crazy amounts, Quinn. This is crazy."
Quinn lifts her head and separates her knees, silently inviting Rachel closer, which the brunette readily accepts. "You keep saying that," Quinn murmurs.
"I'm falling in love with you," Rachel says, serious and oddly somber.
"Good," Quinn says, leaning forward and resting her forehead against Rachel's shoulder; "because I'm falling in love with you, too."
The last day of exams is also the day Quinn's cast is scheduled to come off. She's just walking out of her French exam when Sister Henrietta, the school's resident medical professional, comes to fetch her. She's made an appointment for them, which she failed to inform Quinn about prior to this very moment.
Quinn has been unable to prepare, which means she hasn't had any time to tell Rachel. Without a phone, she's stumped, and she has no choice but to allow the Sister to lead the way. It isn't as if Quinn can just stop a student and tell them to tell Rachel she's leaving campus to get her cast taken off, can she?
Surely she can, though.
Rachel is her Deputy.
It would make sense for the Head Student to pass on such information. The Deputy should know that she's been left in charge, right?
By the time Quinn's made her decision, they're already outside at Sister Henrietta's little blue car, and Quinn doesn't see another student in sight. Shit.
It's okay. She doesn't have plans to see Rachel until later anyway. Her girlfriend intends to nap for most of the afternoon, and possibly spend some time with Brittany and Santana before they all break up for the holidays.
It's okay.
Quinn will see her later.
This will be a surprise for Rachel.
Quinn doesn't expect it to take as long as it does. Despite their appointment, they have to wait, which just makes Quinn that bit more irritable. She wants the cast to come off now, and she wants to see Rachel.
It's simple; the only two things she wants.
She gets neither.
And then she gets one.
When Quinn and Sister Henrietta get back to school, it's well into the late afternoon and, after a quick stop at her own bedroom, Quinn goes in search of Rachel. If she's being honest, she half-expected to find Rachel asleep in her bed, and she's slightly disappointed to find the room empty.
It doesn't help that Rachel's room is also empty. It appears emptier than is the norm, and there's an unsettling feeling that descends on Quinn. For the nth time today, she curses the fact that she doesn't have a phone.
Where is Rachel?
Quinn knows she's probably somewhere with Santana or Brittany or both, which prompts movement in Quinn's legs. She'll face Santana if it means laying eyes on Rachel Berry. She'll face just about anything for her.
She goes to Brittany's room first, because it's closer and stops just outside the closed door. She can't explain the sudden rise in her heart rate, but she attributes it to having to interact with Rachel in front of her friends.
So, steeling herself, Quinn raises her hand to knock on Brittany's door. It's the first time she's ever visited her fellow blonde, because Brittany is firmly Rachel's friend.
And Santana's, she supposes.
"Come in," she hears from inside, and she immediately opens the door to reveal Brittany and Santana spread out on the blonde's bed. They're wrapped up in a way that reminds her of herself and Rachel, but she shakes that from her mind.
"Uh, hi," Quinn says, oozing awkwardness. "Sorry to bother you, but, umm, have you seen Rachel? I can't seem to find her."
Brittany sits up, disentangling herself from the Latina. "Have you tried calling her?" she asks.
Quinn flushes slightly, ducking her head. "Uh, I don't actually have a phone," she says. "It's a long story."
Brittany gets up off her bed and walks towards her desk to retrieve her own phone. "Here," she says, quickly dialling Rachel's number and handing the phone to Quinn.
Quinn stares at the screen for the longest time before she lifts the phone to her ear, trying not to imagine the worst scenario. Why isn't she here? Where could she be, and why is she there?
"Hey, Britt," Rachel answers after the sixth ring, and Quinn's heart does a flip-flop. Because, yes, it's Rachel on the phone, so she's relieved, but there's something off in her tone of voice that puts Quinn on edge.
"Hi," Quinn says. "It's me."
"Quinn?" she says, and then immediately starts sobbing.
Quinn's eyes widen. "Oh, my God, Rach," she says. "Are you okay? What's wrong? Where are you?"
It takes her a full minute to calm enough to answer Quinn's questions. "I'm on my way home, Quinn."
"What? Why? Did something happen?"
Rachel takes a deep breath. "My dad had a heart attack," she says, and Quinn sucks in a sharp breath. "He's going to be okay," she continues before Quinn can ask any more questions. "Lee says they've got him set up at the hospital. They're letting him rest, because God knows he needs it. He never listens to me. I told him. I told him he had to take better care of himself, but he doesn't listen, and now look what's happened."
"I'm sorry," she says, and she means it in every way. "I'm sorry I wasn't here."
"Where were you?"
"I went to get my cast taken off," she says. "I didn't have time to tell you, but you'll be pleased to know I have a fully healed, somewhat sickly pale left forearm."
"Sounds sexy."
Quinn can't stop her blush, and she ducks her head, once more, out of habit.
Rachel hums. "Now, I can get really rough with you."
That does nothing to help with Quinn's blush. She takes a breath, clears her throat and switches topics. "What time will you be arriving?" she asks.
"Scheduled for seven o'clock."
Quinn sighs. It'll be dark by then. "You'll be careful, right?"
"Daniel's already waiting at the station, he says," she responds. "I think he just wants to get away from the hospital. I mean, I'm not even sure I want to arrive at all. When I get there, everything will be real and I'll have to deal with it."
"I'm sorry," Quinn says again, unable to find the words to make her feel better. "Rachel, I'm so sorry."
"I miss you already."
Quinn starts to say it back, but snaps her mouth shut with an audible clack of her teeth.
Rachel laughs at her expense. "Is Brittany standing right there?"
"Yes."
"Then you should probably get off the phone," she says. "We can email."
"Okay," Quinn agrees. "Are you going to be okay?"
"I think I'll try to catch a nap, though sleeping without you just isn't the same."
"I wish - " she starts and then stops, sighing.
"Me too, Quinn," she says. "You have no idea."
Quinn shakes her head, feeling frustrated. "Take care of yourself, okay?"
"You too, baby," she says.
"And please let the family know I'm thinking of them, okay? Especially Hiram."
"I will," she assures her. "Thank you. I'll talk to you later."
"Bye, Rachel."
"Bye, Quinn."
Quinn isn't sure what she's feeling when the call drops, but she pulls the phone away and hands it back to Brittany. "Thank you," she says.
Brittany regards her curiously, noting the lines of distress in her expression. "Are you okay?"
Quinn snaps to attention. "Hmm?"
"Are you okay?" she repeats.
"Oh, uh, yeah," she says unconvincingly. "It's just, well, it's her dad. I'm worried about… them."
Brittany gives her a curious look but, thankfully, she doesn't question her further. "Will you be all right?"
Quinn's smile is genuine when she hears the sincerity in Brittany's voice. "I think so," she says. "Thank you, again," she adds, and then leaves before Santana's gaze can burn a hole through her skin.
My dearest Quinn,
I miss you. I miss you A LOT. I wish you were here.
I just arrived at the hospital, and I saw my dad. He looks so much older than I remember, pale and weak. I hate this. I just hate this. But then I have to remember that, as terrible as this all is, it's far better than what could have happened. I don't even know who I am without him, you know?
Who am I in this family if he's gone?
Skype later tonight? I want to see your arm, and I want to see your face.
Did I mention I miss you?
Love, Rachel.
Dear Rachel,
I miss you too. I wish I were there too. Just know that I'm thinking about you, okay? Every second of every day. I know I say this enough but, honestly, if exams weren't already over, I probably would have failed them all with my obvious and disastrous inability to concentrate on anything other than you.
I don't think you should think about things like that. Your father is going to be okay. You belong to that family in all the important ways. Believe me when I tell you that blood means very little. You are the very heart of that family. I've seen it with my own eyes.
Skype, definitely. Is nine o'clock okay?
Say it again, anyway.
Love, Quinn.
My dearest Quinn,
It was so good to SEE you. I definitely feel much better now. And, yes, your arm is supremely sexy. I can't wait to get my hands on it. And my mouth, actually.
I really wish we were spending our first weekend after exams together. I'm not prepared for the next few weeks without you. Sigh.
I'll say it as many times as you want.
Goodnight, my beautiful Quinn. Dream sweetly, and know that I miss you something fierce.
Love, Rachel.
Dear Rachel,
Waking up to your words was a nice surprise. Thank you, kindly. I like to hear that you're feeling better, and I like it even more knowing I had a little something to do with it.
And now I get to start my day with all sorts of dirty thoughts in my head. Thank you for that. I really do miss your hands, and your mouth.
And you, I suppose.
I'm not prepared either. But… I have an idea. Let me make a few arrangements, and then get back to you, all right? I'm going into the city, so I should be able to get a new phone today. It's doubtful either of my parents have tried to contact me, but I'd rather not deal with the fallout if they have while I've been phone-less.
So, you'll say it all the time then?
Love, Quinn.
My dearest Quinn,
You always know how to make me feel better. Just knowing you exist makes me irrationally happy, and I'm not just saying that. You're probably my favourite person in the world (who I'm not related to, I mean. Have you SEEN baby Lena?)
I like putting dirty thoughts in your head. I'm especially fond of when you act on those thoughts.
NOOO! Tell me. I want to know now.
So, I kind of had a fight with my mom. It probably wasn't an actual fight, but it was something. As you know, I'm supposed to be spending most of Winter Break with her, but my dad had a heart attack and I don't really want to leave him, so we're fighting. She understands, I guess, and I get what she must be feeling, but I don't know what I'm supposed to do. It isn't anyone's fault, and I can't help feeling as if she's, somehow, blaming me. That's not right, right? It doesn't feel right.
God, I miss you.
Love, Rachel.
Dear Rachel,
You're my favourite person as well. To be honest, my family doesn't even compare to you, and I hope that doesn't scare you. I think it should scare me, but it just makes me feel… right. It feels good, and I'm trying not to let it freak me out.
And no, it's not right, Rachel. It's the furthest thing from okay, and I don't know how to make it better for you. All I have is words, for now. Just know that I'm thinking endlessly about you, and I have a plan. It's a good plan, if I do say so myself.
I'm off to get my new phone now. I'll text you once I've got it all set up, and then we can talk more freely. I miss being able to talk to you whenever I want. I miss a lot of things.
Love, Quinn.
The text arrives well after lunch, and makes Rachel squeal and cry at the same time.
Quinn: Fancy some company this holiday?
It takes her an obscene amount of time to calm down enough to ask Quinn to tell her all the details. After that and a quick chat with LeRoy, her response settles both girls to the point of being pathetic.
Rachel: OMG! YES!