Chapter Twenty-Three
"Are you going to tell your father?"
Rachel can't say she's actually surprised by the question, but she's still irritated by it. This is the first meal she's having with her mother since the whole Brody bomb was dropped, and Shelby's barely managed to get through ten minutes before bringing it up.
Rachel sighs forcefully through her nose, and resists the urge to reach for her phone to distract herself from saying something she's bound to regret.
Two days.
She gets to return to Dalton in two days.
She gets to see Quinn in less than forty-eight hours.
"Rachel?"
She looks at Shelby's face, reading the hesitance and apprehension for exactly what it is. "What are you so worried about?" she asks pointedly. "Do you think he'll have a tantrum the way you did when you found out about LeRoy? I'm eighteen now, so you don't have to - " she halts, a disturbing thought coming to mind. "I'm eighteen now," she repeats. Then: "How long has this been going on?"
Shelby hesitates. "A few months."
"A few months," she echoes. "Since the summer, I imagine. Which means that you've been dating a college student for at least five months. And you're obviously serious about him, so why didn't you tell me before?"
"Well, you've seen the way you've reacted."
"No," she says, her brow furrowed. "That's not it at all, is it?" She doesn't even bother to wait for a response. "I was seventeen until a few weeks ago, and you know that Dad could have used this to get full custody of me if he wanted, so you waited until it wouldn't matter anymore, because you know there's something wrong with it."
"There's nothing wrong with it," Shelby immediately counters.
"Then, why did you hide it?"
"Why are you hiding Quinn?" Shelby shoots right back, and Rachel's hackles rise.
"Don't you dare liken this to my relationship with Quinn," she forces out.
"How is this any different?" Shelby argues. "Why can't you just accept this the same way I've accepted you're gay?"
Rachel freezes at the way she practically spits out the last word, and Shelby realises far too late that she's said entirely the wrong thing.
"I didn't know there were conditions to your acceptance," Rachel says tensely, and then laughs humourlessly. "God, I'm such an idiot, aren't I? You haven't accepted this at all, have you? I'm sure you have conniptions about all of this behind closed doors, based on what I remember about your reaction to learning about Dad."
Rachel leans back, feeling everything she thinks she knows shift completely. "It was never about me, was it? You don't actually accept my sexuality, do you? You just knew that Dad obviously did, and you didn't want him to win." She shakes her head. "Wow, Mom, twelve years later and you're still using me to try to one-up your ex-husband."
Shelby opens her mouth to say something, but thinks better of it.
"I hope it feels good to know you've won, I guess," Rachel says, sounding morose. "I hope you're happy." And then she gets to her feet.
She's angry and sad and all she wants is her father, and Quinn.
Two days is two days too long.
Quinn doesn't expect Rachel's call, so it's a pleasant surprise when Rachel's name pops up on her phone's screen. She's in the library with Martha, sifting through the various volumes her family has managed to accumulate over the years.
She's picking out all the ones she wants to take with her when she leaves, disguising it as wanting to have them at school with her for her final semester's various projects and assignments.
Quinn shoots Martha a slightly apologetic look, and then reaches for her phone. She's smiling when she answers, but it slips from her face the second she hears Rachel's despondent tone.
"What's wrong?" Quinn asks swiftly, and then immediately walks out of the library. The house, itself, is empty of her parents, but she still makes her way up to her bedroom for some privacy. "What happened?"
Rachel sucks in a breath. "I don't know how we get past this," she says.
"Past what?" Quinn questions. "Who? What's going on, Rach?"
There's a beat of silence, and then Rachel starts speaking. She tells Quinn everything that's been happening, about Brody and her fractured relationship with her mother, and how Shelby hasn't been sincere and forthcoming when it comes to her thoughts on Rachel's sexual preference.
As if they don't have enough with which to deal.
Rachel is in tears by the time she's done, her voice catching on her sobs, and Quinn wants nothing more than to crawl through the phone and just hold her.
"Oh, Rachel," Quinn murmurs, unsure what to say to make any of this better for her girlfriend. "Baby, what do you need? What can I do?"
"Can you sing?"
The request is so unexpected, and Quinn fumbles for a response.
"I know it's weird," Rachel rushes to say, thinking she's done something wrong. "I just need music, and I think it'll help if it comes from you."
Quinn audibly swallows. "Well, based on Jesse's critics, I'm occasionally sharp, so my singing to you may or may not give you more of a headache."
"You've definitely improved."
Quinn lets out a delicate snort. "You have to say that."
"I don't have to say anything, and you know it."
Quinn hums in thought. "Maybe I can play some piano for you, instead," she suggests.
"You've never played for me before."
"I know."
"Are you sure?"
"Will it make you feel better?"
"Immensely."
Quinn immediately starts moving again, leaving her room with Rachel still on the phone. "Do you have any requests?" she asks.
"Surprise me."
Quinn intends to.
She doesn't really discuss playing the piano with Rachel, because she's never felt as if she stands up to her musically. She knows she's gifted, but it's never been something she would pursue.
It's not a passion, as it were.
The music doesn't live in her the way it does in Rachel, or even Blaine. She knows it doesn't live in Kurt, because his passion is fashion, and she doesn't know Santana anymore to say for sure what fuels her fire, and she's learned enough about Brittany to know she lives for dance.
They all have their things.
Quinn's starting to accept that hers might be Art.
Or soccer.
Maybe, both.
If that isn't something monumental, she doesn't know what is. It just makes her think about Kelsey, and about her now-complete portfolio that she's started sending out to a few universities.
Of course, she already applied to Yale.
Her father might not care about her, but he definitely cares where she goes to school, and anything less than his Alma Mater is unacceptable.
The man is in for the shock of his life when the tenth of February hits.
When Quinn gets back to the library, Martha is still there, and Quinn politely asks if she can have the room. With a nod, Martha leaves, absently informing her that she'll organise for more cardboard boxes for packing the books.
Quinn settles on the bench once the door closes behind Martha. She sets her phone on the piano's top, switching it to speaker.
"Rach?"
"I'm here."
"This is for you," she says, and then immediately begins to play River Flows in You by Yiruma. It's one of her favourite pieces, by a long shot. She fell in love with it the second she heard it, and she scoured high and low for the sheet music, learned to play it on her own, and she's never forgotten a single note of the masterpiece since.
Rachel's sniffles when the piece is over aren't a surprise, and Quinn seamlessly goes into Nuvole Bianchi by Ludovico Einaudi, which is another personal favourite. It's sad and beautiful, and Quinn always thinks of the past when she hears it.
She thinks of the future when she plays it.
A future with Rachel, when they might be just a little less messed up than they are right now.
Quinn plays another three pieces before Rachel sounds calm enough when she speaks.
"Why have you never played for me before?"
There are a number of things Quinn could say, but she decides on, "It just didn't come up. It's never been important until now." Which is kind of true.
"You're wonderful, Quinn," Rachel says. "It must be amazing to witness you play." She hums softly. "I recognise only the first song. When do I get to watch you in action?"
"When do I get to watch you sing?"
Rachel lets out a soft, exhausted laugh. "You watch me sing every Monday, Quinn," she says.
Quinn hums. "Will you sing for me, one day?" she asks. "We'll trade." Then, with a gasp, she says, "Hey, I'll play while you sing. We'll actually make music together, that can actually be heard. Oh, my God. Why have we never done this before? Jesus, Berry, we're slacking."
This time, when Rachel laughs, it sounds less tiresome, and Quinn can tell she's feeling better. "I love you," Rachel says, and Quinn resists the urge to scramble to switch her phone off of speaker.
She's fine.
It's fine.
Her parents aren't even home.
They're actually already back in Washington D.C., and Quinn is relieved by that. It allows her the opportunity to claim things from this fake life, merely setting herself up for the future. She's managed to do nearly everything she and Hiram discussed and, the day she turns eighteen, the pressures of the surname Fabray will be a distant memory.
"If you're trying to get out of collaborating with me by buttering me up with all those pretty words, you've got another thing coming, Berry."
Rachel just laughs again, and Quinn is filled with a pleasant sense of accomplishment. "I can't wait to see you," she says. "If I could, I would leave New York, right now."
Quinn bites her bottom lip, wary of how her next words are going to be received. "Do you actually mean that?" she asks.
"I - " she immediately starts to respond, and then stops, sighing. "No."
"Look, I'm not saying you don't have a right to be mad, because you definitely do," she says. "Maybe things are getting lost in translation, and the fact that the two of you aren't actually talking to each other is only going to perpetuate the bad feelings." Quinn sighs. "Just, talk to her, okay? And actually listen. You don't have to meet with this guy if you don't want to, and she has no right to force you to. I just think that things are only going to get worse if you leave them as they are now. If you go back to school in this state, it's just going to get uglier, and I don't want that for you."
Rachel groans softly. "Why do you have to make so much sense?"
Quinn chuckles softly. "We really should learn how to take our own advice, shouldn't we?"
"I still think we're doing quite well, given the circumstances."
"As in, we could be high-functioning alcoholics, and yet we're just somewhat self-destructive?"
"Exactly."
Quinn laughs out loud, her head shaking in amusement. "What am I ever going to do with you?"
"Love me." Her voice sounds small, even to Quinn's ears.
"Always," she easily says. "Always, Rachel."
While her talk with Quinn helps put things into perspective, somewhat; Rachel can't help the lingering anger she feels at merely the thought of her mother comparing her situation with Quinn to the Brody thing.
God.
Why is this even a thing?
Why is Shelby making it a thing?
Rachel, out of everybody, should understand that love is love, right? Age is just a number, and all that, and she suspects she's being slightly hypocritical, but this is her mother.
Her mother, who is using Rachel's sexuality as some kind of bargaining chip to make herself feel better about the truth that she's dating a child.
Merely thinking about it is giving her a headache. She doesn't actually know if her mother is home, but she still ventures out of her room to get herself a glass of water.
She's upset.
She also wants just one thing to be easy.
It's a surprise and also not to find Shelby in the kitchen, quietly sitting at the breakfast nook as she nurses a cup of coffee and stares solemnly into space.
Rachel feels guilty for a few seconds, but her anger clouds all of that in seconds. They can all be miserable; separate and together.
She walks into the room in silence, aware that Shelby is tracking her movements. Shelby knows what it means when she drinks a glass of water, and she kind of just wants her mother to do something, anything, to make everything better.
Maybe Shelby can sense it, because she says, "I'm sorry," and Rachel accepts that it's a start.
"I'm sorry, too," she replies, and the atmosphere between them gets less heavy.
"I should never have tried to use your sexuality against you," Shelby continues, her gaze trained on her own hands. "It was unfair and uncalled for, and I don't want you ever to think I don't accept you. Because I do. I love you, Rachel, and all I want is for you to be happy, and if it makes me a terrible mother for wanting you to be happy with me, then so be it."
Rachel sighs. "You're not terrible," she says. "Believe me, I know of terrible mothers, and you're definitely not one of them."
Shelby has a feeling Rachel is referring to Quinn, but she's not going to ask. She's learned what not to ask about the mysterious blonde.
"You were right, though," Rachel says, nibbling at her bottom lip. "I do understand how 'unconventional' relationships can be viewed, and I get how attraction and emotions just happen, as it were." She shakes her head. "What irks me, though, is that you assumed I would be more understanding of this, just because I'm in a relationship that the general society frowns upon."
Shelby nods to show she's listening.
"I don't think I'm okay with this," she says. "I don't know if I'll ever be, to be honest, but I too want you to be happy." She fiddles with the hem of Quinn's soccer jersey, her need to be close to her girlfriend all too telling. "If he makes you happy, then I guess that's it, right? There's nothing more to it."
"But - "
Rachel shakes her head. "No, Mom," she says. "I don't want to discuss it anymore. You're in a relationship. We don't have to bond over it, okay? I leave in two days, and then you can go back to what you've been doing without having to worry about what I think about it."
Shelby blinks repeatedly, unsure what exactly Rachel is telling her. She's not being entirely clear, but it's obvious she's reached her threshold. If this is the best she's going to get for now, then Shelby's going to take it.
At least Rachel is talking to her.
"Okay," Shelby eventually says. Then: "Is there anything specific you want to do with your last day?"
Rachel presses her lips together. "I have a shopping list," she says. "I didn't get Christmas presents for Santana, Brittany, Kurt, Blaine and Jesse."
"Jesse? As in your show choir director?"
Rachel nods with a shrug. "He's really pushed me this semester," she says. "And he made me lead soloist. I think he deserves at least a chocolate bar."
Shelby lets out an unexpected laugh, and she's just so relieved. She doesn't think anything has actually been resolved, but this is better than nothing. At least they're talking to each other.
"And Quinn?"
Rachel automatically smiles, and Shelby thinks Quinn is the best thing to happen to her daughter in a long, long time. "Technically, I already gave her a gift, but I'm not against buying things for her." She shifts her weight slightly. "She's entirely too awkward about gifts. Both giving and receiving them. She turns into a tomato, I swear."
Shelby just smiles, absently wondering if they'll ever reach a point of comfort where she can talk about Brody.
She's not holding her breath.
"Am I allowed to get her a gift?" Shelby asks.
Rachel hesitates, studying her closely, as if she's waiting for the catch. "Why?" she eventually just asks.
"I assume Quinn is partly responsible for the conversation we just had," she says. "And she doesn't even know what more she's given me, Rachel. Do you have any idea how amazing it is to see you smiling and singing again? I don't even know what I could say or do for her to let her know how thankful I am for what she's done."
"Mom," she murmurs.
"I'm just saying."
"She would freak out," Rachel says with a giggle. "She would probably combust; I'm not even kidding."
Shelby laughs. "Well, then we better find her a good one, huh?"
"Everything is better with bacon."
Tori laughs as she dips a carrot stick into a jar of peanut butter, her legs kicking out in front of her as she sits on the kitchen island.
"Even cereal."
"That's disgusting, Q."
Quinn dodges the carrot stick that gets thrown at her, and quickly flips the strips of bacon she's frying in a pan. It's late on Quinn's last night in Hartford and, while she recognises she should be sad about it, she's really not.
She's moving on to another chapter of her life, and she's going willingly.
Martha has gone to bed, and it's just Quinn and Tori up and about. Quinn had a craving for bacon, and Tori followed her into the kitchen. She can't help but wonder if Tori can feel that this is the end.
As soon as Quinn leaves Hartford, it's over. It's either she successfully gets out… or she… doesn't.
Either way, it's unlikely she and Tori are ever going to be able to do anything like this again.
Once the bacon is done, Quinn turns off the burner and beams at her snack.
"Are you dipping it in chocolate sauce?" Tori asks.
Quinn considers it, and then shakes her head. "I think tonight has to be classic," she says. "Why? Do you want chocolate sauce?"
"I told you I'm not having bacon," she says.
"I asked you if you wanted chocolate sauce," Quinn quips. "The bacon is mine, T. You can have the sauce."
"Shut up," Tori mutters.
Quinn just laughs, and then grabs a plate. Once she's got all her things sorted, she pinches Tori's arm, and then heads out of the kitchen.
Tori scrambles to gather her carrots and peanut butter, and then follows after her. They end up back in the living room, and Quinn puts on a random movie that neither of them even watches.
Quinn is too busy with her bacon, and Tori is too busy watching Quinn. She's different, now, and she's beautiful. She seems less burdened, somehow, as if she's almost free, and Tori is unquestionably jealous of her.
If ever Tori were to… give in to her Sapphic desires, she can't see herself with anyone other than Quinn. Because, it was more than just sex for her, and she hates that Quinn thinks it wasn't.
"I love you," Tori blurts out, and Quinn freezes mid-chew, her eyes snapping towards Tori's face. "I mean, of course I love you, Quinn." She bites her bottom lip. "I did then, and I do now. It wasn't just about sex, okay? I'm sorry you ever felt that way."
Quinn visibly doesn't know how to respond to that, and the deer in headlights look on her face is so stupidly endearing that Tori can't help but still love her.
She's always going to love this girl.
Quinn clears her throat. "Rachel thinks I have a lot of unresolved feelings about the two of us," she says.
Tori's eyes widen. "She knows about me?"
Quinn frowns. "Of course she does," she says. "She knows everything." She pauses. "Well, she will. Eventually. We haven't been together that long."
It's jealousy, Tori knows. It settles harshly in the pit of her stomach, and she swallows thickly.
Quinn laughs. "She's not really a fan of you," she says.
"Oh? Why?"
Quinn shrugs, but she doesn't respond. The answer is complicated, and she doesn't really want to get into the intricacies of that on her last night,
She'll discuss it with her therapist, some time in the future.
Tori takes the silence in stride. "You're not coming to my wedding, are you?"
Quinn sets her plate on the coffee table and turns her body to face Tori. "No, I'm not," she says.
Tori breathes out slowly. "Please tell me you'll be careful."
"Of course."
"I hope she's worth it."
Quinn shakes her head. "You still don't get it," she says. "This isn't about Rachel. It's about me. I was always going to try to get out, T. Rachel isn't a reason or incentive. I won't survive any other kind of life and, just the fact that I get to spend it with Rachel is a bonus."
Tori sighs. "She's it for you, isn't she?"
Quinn doesn't even hesitate. "She is, yes," she says. "I didn't know love like this could exist, and I can't imagine ever feeling this way about a man."
Tori closes her eyes for a moment. "And, you never felt that way about me, did you?"
Here, Quinn pauses. "I - I thought I did, maybe," she says. "I was young, and I think I confused my feelings for something else." She fiddles with the hem of her sweater. "We could never be real love, because we were never real."
Tori doesn't expect it to hurt, but it does, and she has to look away. She's horrified by the tears pooling in her eyes, and she doesn't want Quinn to see them. It's embarrassing, really, because she's the one who first said goodbye.
"When did you become the mature one between the two of us?"
"I'm pretty sure I've always been," Quinn says, and it's the truth. The mere fact that Tori hasn't been able to move on from any of this proves that. Quinn has been a grownup since she was, well, born.
Tori forces herself to smile. "At least I still look younger than you do," she says. "Seriously, Quinn. What is up with that?"
The joke ties into a lot of Quinn's insecurities, but she's going to take it as it is, because Tori is trying to lighten the mood.
She lets it go, but still chooses to say, "It might not have been like I feel with Rachel, but I did love you too." She smiles sadly. "Sometimes, I still do."
And that's that about that.
Rachel, in general, is a thoroughly impatient person. She's always been. She doesn't like waiting for things, and the fact that Quinn is a full two hours behind Rachel's arrival back at Dalton is making her snappy and grumpy.
Brittany picks up on her mood immediately, and then steers Santana away to her own bedroom. She imagines Rachel will want some alone time when Quinn does eventually get here, and she knows they can catch up on their holidays over dinner.
Rachel busies herself with unpacking while she waits, her bedroom door wide open, so she'll see the exact moment Quinn arrives. She's fidgety and anxious, and she doesn't know how she's ever going to survive any length of time away from Quinn, now that they're together together.
Surely, she can find a way to convince Quinn to come to New York with her once they graduate. She's aware that Quinn's parents expect her to attend Yale, which Quinn actually would have jumped at, but now things are changing.
Quinn probably, definitely, won't be going to Yale.
Right now, she has the entire world at her feet, and Rachel can only hope that wherever Quinn chooses to go isn't too far away from New York. Rachel thinks the two of them have been through enough without adding on trying to make long-distance work.
Please can just one thing be easy.
God, what if Quinn ends up in a Chicago with Kelsey for her Art? Rachel knows there's a rather booming theatre scene in that city, and she may or may not be open to pursuing a career there.
But.
New York is New York, and she has a feeling Quinn won't let her end up anywhere else. Quinn believes in her in ways that -
Rachel freezes at the first sight of a mop of blonde hair, and a smile automatically blooms across her face. She physically has to stop herself from skipping across the corridor, but she does move to stand in her own doorway to watch as Quinn shuffles towards her door. She's carrying her own backpack, but two sophomore boys have her large suitcase and her tog bag respectively.
Rachel can just smile as Quinn thanks them with a somewhat sleepy smile and unfocused eyes. Her girlfriend is so high. She even giggles to herself.
She waits until the boys have disappeared to make her way to Quinn's room, picking up the tog bag by the door and carrying it across the threshold and closing the door behind her.
Quinn startles at the sound of the click of the door's lock, spinning around to face the intruder. Her eyes immediately light up when they land on Rachel, and she closes the space between them in a few, quick strides.
Rachel didn't realise how much she missed being in Quinn's arms until she's back in them. She holds onto Quinn's waist tightly, her hands fisting the fabric of her school jersey. Her eyes are closed, and her breathing is unsteady.
"I missed you so much," Rachel says into her shoulder, and she doesn't even care how needy it makes her sound. "I don't want to spend another day apart from you."
Quinn's grip tightens at the sound of her words, but she says nothing. She presses soft kisses to Rachel's hair, soaking in everything she can about the girl in her arms.
The hug lasts for almost eight minutes, and Rachel is the one who initiates the release. Though, she doesn't go too far, pulling back just enough to look at Quinn's face.
"I don't know how you don't get drug-tested every time you get back to school," she says. "You look so hopped up on something really quite lovely."
Quinn's smile is slightly goofy, and she looks adorable. "It was a bad flight," she says quietly.
"Turbulence?"
"The emotional variety."
Rachel lifts up onto her toes and kisses Quinn's cheek, and then smiles when Quinn turns her head so their lips can meet. Rachel feels everything just… settle within her, at the feel of Quinn's kiss.
It's slow, languid, even lazy. There's no rush, and Rachel finds herself smiling every time Quinn's tongue tickles the roof of her mouth. She's missed this. She's missed just being able to be with Quinn.
Who is the one to slow the kiss and bring it to an end, pulling back slowly and breathing heavily. It takes her a moment to force her eyes open, and she rests her forehead against Rachel's.
"I need to nap," Quinn says; "and I really don't want to fall asleep while kissing you and standing up."
"Would you rather be kissing me and lying down?"
Quinn chuckles. "Yeah," she says; "we can do that."
It's cute, Rachel thinks, that Quinn even attempts to stay awake once she's horizontal. She settles on her back, Rachel half on top of her, and she tries very hard to stay alert, merely humming in response to everything Rachel says.
Rachel is so charmed; she's sure she's falling more and more in love with this human being with every second that passes.
"We should start a band," is the last thing Quinn murmurs before she slips into slumber, and Rachel just continues to lie with her, content to listen to her steady breathing and to watch her gorgeous face.
Eventually, Rachel does get up, but she doesn't leave. Instead, she proceeds to unpack Quinn's suitcase, easily noting which clothes are meant for the laundry and which ones are going straight back into her closet.
Rachel doesn't read too much into the fact that she knows exactly where each item of clothing goes. Quinn is very particular about this type of thing and, somehow, Rachel has managed to pick up on all the intricacies of Quinn's slight obsessive compulsiveness.
Once she's finished with the suitcase, she starts on the tog bag. It's not exactly filled with clothes. There are books and sketch pads and art supplies and all sorts of other trinkets that scream of Quinn's childhood.
Of Lucy.
Rachel isn't sure where they're all supposed to go, so she settles for lining everything up on Quinn's desk for her to put away herself, before she zips away the empty tog bag into the suitcase and puts them both away.
Because she's nosy, Rachel lifts what looks to be an old photo album and moves to sit on the floor by Quinn's bed. She leans against it, stretches her legs out on the carpet in front of her and opens the album.
Rachel thinks she's prepared, but she's definitely not.
She actually gasps at the first sight of a baby Quinn Fabray. She twists her head to look at the picture on Quinn's pin board, and the two babies look so different. She looks days old in the one on the board, but a few months' old in the photo album.
She looks like Quinn.
Well, like Lucy, and Rachel isn't prepared for the sight of big, hazel eyes and soft, dark blonde curls. She looks so, so precious, and Rachel is pretty sure her ovaries are starting to sing.
She wants a baby that looks exactly like Quinn. She wants to be a mother to Quinn's baby and, okay, that's a terrifying thought for a teenager, surely.
Doing her best to ignore those thoughts, she continues to page through the album, swooning as Quinn gets older in the handful of pictures on display. There are no pictures of Quinn and her parents, but a few of Quinn with a woman who must be Mary.
There's one from when Quinn was about six years old, and she's smiling a toothless smile straight at the camera, and Rachel almost starts crying at the innocence in her eyes.
Because, in the later years, it's obvious that the lightness is gone. Her gaze grows darker and heavier as time passed. Her body also physically changes, growing heavier, and the pictures showcase a girl with glasses and braces.
A girl who looks so, so sad.
The pictures are scarce, and then there's Tori.
Rachel thinks she could have gone her entire life without knowing what the woman looks like. It makes her more real. It makes her human.
Quinn mentioned that she spent some time with the woman over their Break, which made Rachel slightly uncomfortable, but she knew it was something Quinn needed. She needed the closure, and now it's over.
She's the one Quinn loves, and that's all that matters.
It's when the pictures change, though. Quinn thins out, turning from Lucy into Quinn in many, many ways. Rachel wonders how much influence Tori actually had on the twelve-year-old when they first started out, but the physical change in Quinn is almost frightening.
She's beautiful.
She's always been beautiful.
Rachel wonders if this is the time in history when Quinn's disagreement with food started. She can't help thinking that Tori might have even encouraged it, and she has yet another complication when it comes to the strange woman.
Still, Rachel can't begrudge her too much, because there are pictures of a smiling Quinn in her early teenage years, and the smiles almost reach her eyes.
Rachel must spend longer than she expects studying the few pictures that track Quinn's growth into the girl she now knows because, before she knows it, there are warm lips against her cheek.
She automatically smiles, and Quinn hums.
"You're here," Quinn murmurs.
"I'm not spending any time away from you for at least the next six hours," Rachel informs her. "You're stuck with me, Fabray."
Quinn chuckles softly, her breath warm against Rachel's skin. "You'll hear no complaints from here."
Rachel turns her head to look at Quinn's face. "Are you feeling better?"
She nods. "Though, I'll feel a lot better if you were to come up here and kiss me."
Rachel tilts her head back, resting it against the bed. "What time did you schedule the prefects' meeting?"
Quinn moves to check the time on her phone that's sitting on her nightstand, and then groans. "Well, so much for that," she complains. "It starts at five." She shakes her head. "Why didn't you say anything when I decided five o'clock on the day we get back was a good idea for a torturous meeting?"
Rachel shrugs. "All I know is I couldn't wait to see you," she says. "I didn't really care about anything else."
Quinn nuzzles the side of her face. "Well, I mean, we do still have half an hour," she whispers. "Get your butt up here, so I can touch it."
"Welcome back," Quinn starts, smiling warmly, despite the murmur of discontent from her fellow prefects. "We're officially in our final semester as high school students."
Now, if that isn't something to sing about, Quinn isn't sure what is.
"We have quite a bit to get through, so I hope you're all comfortable." She shifts in her seat, casually paging though her notebook to get to the agenda for this first meeting of the new year. While she would rather be kissing Rachel, she knows this transfer of information is important.
"We're almost there," she says. "We're hitting the final stretch, and then we get to say goodbye to these uniforms forever."
That gets her a good chuckle, which she uses as permission to get into the nitty-gritty of their positions.
She's just got to her second point - the disgusting litter situation - when she feels it.
Rachel's foot.
Sliding along her calf.
Her breath hitches, which she hastily turns into a cough. She has a quick sip of her water, deftly shooting Rachel a warning look… that the girl happily ignores. She's pure innocence to the untrained eye, but Quinn knows better.
Quinn glances nervously at Santana, who's sitting beside Rachel, but the Latina is scribbling something in her notebook, that is probably not even prefect-related.
With a sigh, Quinn continues with the meeting and does her best to ignore the sensations of Rachel Berry merely touching her. She was already rather worked up earlier, and Rachel's ministrations definitely aren't helping.
By some miracle, Quinn manages to get to her last point. "And, finally, we have a Valentine's Dance to plan and organise. Like with the Halloween dance, we'll need a committee to be headed by a few of us. Are there any takers?"
Almost predictably, Kurt raises his hand, and she smiles at him all too knowingly. He texted her numerous times over their Break about it, shooting out theme ideas and all the various ways he intends to add a certain Kurt Hummel spin on the entire event.
"Don't you worry about a thing," he says, almost bouncing in his seat. "I'll take care of everything."
Quinn can't help the relief she feels at the sound of that, because planning a dance is literally the last thing she wants to do. She does take note of the prefects who are willing to help. She'll bring up the committee to their entire year during their next class meeting, and she's going to have to fill in Mr Schuester on all the newest developments.
And, somewhere in all of that, she's going to have to handle this Rachel situation.
On the one hand, Quinn is immensely relieved that Rachel is pushing the limits of their physical relationship, but Quinn's unsure what to do when it gets turned into a game.
She doesn't know how to compete without knowing the rules.
It's a conversation they should probably have at some point, and preferably before Rachel's foot rises any higher, because it's getting dangerously close to -
Oh.
Quinn squeaks, which gets her a curious look from the other prefects. She blushes madly, and swats at Rachel's foot with her left hand. The girl giggles without any sound, and Quinn resists the urge to glare at her.
"With that decided, I think that's it," Quinn finally says. "Are there any questions?"
Just one.
From Blaine.
About what to do with some of the complaints he's received from various students about a range of school matters.
"Well, you know we have a Student Representative Council," Quinn answers. "They shouldn't be coming to you, Blaine. Each class has a representative, and they should go to them with their complaints, and we'll deal with them in the monthly Council meeting."
Blaine just nods because, yes, he does know.
"They go to him because they like him," Lauren says.
Candice nods. "He's totally approachable and no offence guys, but some of you are so intense; it's actually quite scary." She says this with a pointed look at Quinn, Rachel and Santana.
And, okay, it may or may not be completely inappropriate, but Quinn can't stop herself from laughing. Rachel joins in a beat later, and then Kurt does, and the three of them just die of laughter as everyone else looks at them as if they're losing their minds.
Quinn meets Rachel's gaze, and something passes between them that feels both heavy and light. It's almost magical, she stupidly thinks. This thing between them is everything and nothing, and the world is exactly as it should be.
Quinn finally ends the meeting, wishing them a good new semester and making sure they know they can contact her whenever they need to. Her door, while closed sometimes, is always open, which earns her a good chuckle.
Quinn remains in her seat as she watches the prefects start to leave, chatting away to one another and actually smiling about being back. Dalton Academy has been her safe haven for some years now, and she has to admit that whatever happens after she leaves this place terrifies her.
Well, a lot of things terrify her, but she's working on it.
And, right now, the thing she's still coming to accept is that Rachel Berry is quite possibly the love of her life, and she's going to do everything she can to hold onto her.
Said girl is lingering a bit, even though she knows Santana is in a rush to get back to Brittany, and then slowly make their way down to the dining hall.
She almost expects the voice, and she lets out a breath of relief when Quinn speaks.
"Rachel," she says, and both she and Santana turn to look at the blonde. "A word, please?"
Santana smirks at Rachel. "Someone's in trouble," she whispers, almost singing.
And, the thing is, Rachel suspects she's right. Quinn doesn't look particularly amused by her antics, but Quinn is generally difficult to read on her good days, and Rachel has gone a few days without seeing her, so anything could be happening right now.
"I'll meet you for dinner," Rachel tells Santana, and then watches as the girl leaves the boardroom, closing the door behind her.
It takes Rachel a moment to turn around to face Quinn, looking particularly sheepish. "Hi," she says.
Quinn doesn't immediately respond. Rather, she finishes packing her things away, and then she finally looks up. It's with a commanding, serious tone that she says, "Sit down."
Rachel frowns for a beat, and then resumes her seat.
For the longest time, they just stare at each other. But, then, Quinn is moving, and Rachel feels the need to brace herself. Quinn rises to her feet, and then steps closer to Rachel, a curious look on her face.
"Quinn, what are you - "
"Don't talk," Quinn says, and Rachel's mouth snaps shut. "I'm not sure what the protocol is here, but I think you and I need to have a little chat."
Now, Rachel understands that her girlfriend is undeniably good looking. She's physically stunning, and her general appeal is amplified by her intensity and apparent mystery.
She's beautiful, and she's hot. She has this… swagger about her that sets Rachel's entire being on edge. She's desperate to touch at all times, and she finds herself always just… looking.
Quinn is many, many things.
But this is the first time Rachel truly thinks of her as sexy.
Dangerously sexy.
Quinn moves to lean against the large table, her arms folding across her chest and regards Rachel carefully. She's close enough that her thigh is pressed against Rachel's, and the contact is buzzing.
It's heated, and Rachel has the sudden urge to rise up and, well, kiss Quinn senseless. She burns with the desire, and she digs her nails into her palms to stop herself from launching at the unsuspecting blonde.
"Rachel," Quinn says. "Do we need to have another talk about our physical relationship?"
They both already know the answer to that question, but Rachel still nods. "We probably should," she says; "but I, more or less, want to kiss you until we both can't breathe."
Quinn sucks in a sharp breath. "Right now?"
Rachel nods as she rises to her feet, and then moves to stand between Quinn's legs, forcing her to spread them slightly. "Sit," she gently instructs, and Quinn shifts backwards until she's sitting comfortably on the tabletop.
"Are we really doing this?"
Rachel doesn't answer her, choosing rather to close the distance between their mouths. Her arms automatically move up to Quinn's neck, drawing their bodies closer together.
Quinn moans softly, her lips parting to grant Rachel access. Their kiss is moderately slow, but definitely heated. There's an undercurrent of danger and the general sense that they could get caught that makes the experience that bit more, and Quinn's fingers reflexively close around the fabric of Rachel's sweater.
"Rachel," Quinn warns when Rachel's hands slide down the front of her chest. "Someone could walk past any second."
"I don't care," Rachel murmurs. "I haven't had the opportunity to kiss you in way too long."
Quinn forces their kiss to slow, and then pulls back deliberately. She chuckles at Rachel's pout, and then pecks her slightly-swollen lips. "We can make out later, I promise," she says.
"We also should probably talk," she says in return.
"But, kiss first, right?"
Rachel smiles all too knowingly. "Of course, baby. There's no other way."
And then, contrary to what they've both reluctantly decided, Rachel drags her nails down Quinn's stomach, and then along her thighs. It forces a pleasurable hum from the blonde, and Rachel smiles in victorious response.
"I love you," Rachel says, stepping even further into Quinn, who has no choice but to lock her ankles behind Rachel's knees.
"I missed you so much," Quinn murmurs, and then they're kissing again. It's faster, now. Almost desperate, as their mouths move against each other, tongues and teeth clashing in the proverbial fight for dominance.
Quinn leans back, and Rachel almost falls into her.
"One day, we're going to make out on this table," Rachel says, practically crawling into her. "I swear, baby, before we leave…"
Quinn nips at her bottom lip, her breathing unsteady. "God, I love you," she whispers. "I love you."
For the first time, Rachel wonders why Quinn actually has no qualms about expressing her love. It's something she's been meaning to ask, and she wonders if Quinn has ever spoken to her therapist about the fact she was starved of the emotion as a child.
Hasn't really experienced it, bar for Mary, probably.
Tori, to some extent.
And, now, Rachel.
Rachel's hands untuck Quinn's shirt, and then slide along her warm skim.
"Oh, fuck," Quinn complains, pulling back to peer at her with irritation. "Rachel, no, it's actually not okay that your hands are always so fucking cold. They are not going anywhere near my body until you sort that shit out."
Rachel blatantly ignores her, moving her hands up until she's cupping Quinn's breasts with both hands. Her smile turns smug when Quinn gasps, and then moans.
"Shut up," Quinn forces out, just before Rachel leans in to kiss her again. She has no choice but to give in because, while Rachel is usually the one who initiates their make-out sessions, she's not normally the aggressor.
Quinn wasn't sure she would like it, but Rachel taking control is kind of a turn-on, and she finds herself almost pulling Rachel onto the table with her.
Which, okay, really might have happened, if there wasn't a sudden slamming of a door somewhere further down the corridor.
Rachel practically flies off her, and Quinn scrambles to her feet as she futilely tries to straighten her uniform.
It all takes a moment, Rachel holding her breath and Quinn walking to the other side of the table, but they eventually realise that nobody is actually heading their way.
Another moment later, they look at each other, exchange significant looks, and then nervously chuckle into the space between them.
"We should probably talk."
"Yeah, we probably should."