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Chapter Twenty-four:

Private Performances and Shared Experiences.

"Quinn stopped by while you were at class."

Rachel's head jerked up from her vegetable risotto. "She did? Why?"

Her Daddy shrugged and handed over a brown paper bag. It was crumpled at the top to make a handle.

"She said this was all yours as long as you followed the instructions to the letter."

"What is it? What instructions?" She eyed the paper bag like it was about to explode with slush.

"I haven't looked and I did ask, but she promised they were harmless and that you would understand." Leroy leant against the counter, his expression serious as he meticulously folded a pair of misshapen oven mitts. "Baby girl, if she's still bullying you . . ."

"She's not, Daddy. In fact, just this morning she agreed that . . ." she began as she unrolled the top of the bag. The rest of her sentence was lost in a squeal of delight as she caught sight of the orange and black material in the bag. "Oh my Barbra!"

"What? What did she do?" Leroy leapt forward to snatch the bag away, fearing anthrax or worse, as Rachel pulled out the tiger striped onesie. "What the he . . .E double hockey sticks is that?"

"They're pajamas, Daddy, what do they look like?"

"I . . . okay." If anything this just made the question mark over Quinn Fabray's head even bigger, but he could see no immediate reason to get upset about PJ's that would make Rachel look like a character from Winnie the Pooh, especially when they seemed to make his baby girl so happy. "What do the instructions say?"

Rachel dug deep into the bottom of the bag to retrieve a notebook-sized piece of paper. She scanned Quinn's handwriting quickly. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

"I don't know, do I?"

She giggled and rolled her eyes. "She's just daring me to make a video for MySpace wearing them. If I do, I can keep them."

"And are you going to? I thought you wanted your MySpace page to be purely professional?"

"Tigger is a well respected children's icon. There is nothing unprofessional about portraying him," she said pompously, before adding with a grin, "And Quinn hasn't stated that the video needs to be public."

It was getting closer and closer to nine and Rachel had yet to make an appearance on Facebook. Quinn was starting to get a little antsy and worried. What if her instructions hadn't been taken as playfully as she'd intended? Or what if Rachel had decided the morning's drama was more than she could put up with? Or what if she was belatedly freaking out about what had happened last night?

She checked Facebook and MySpace again and still nothing. Had she screwed their brand new friendship up before they'd even had a chance to explore it? It wouldn't be that much of a surprise seeing as how she screwed up everything she touched. She'd screwed up her relationship with Finn by getting pregnant. Screwed up her friendship with Santana by getting made Captain of the Cheerios. Screwed up falling in love with Rachel by caring more about others opinions than her own. Now she'd screwed up their one chance at being anything more than nothing . . .

*Ping*

Something was trying to get her attention but she had so many windows open she didn't know what. She checked Facebook again, still nothing. MySpace, ditto. She checked her Twitter page and her blog and her virus protection in case the ping had been a warning of something nasty . . . For some reason her email account was the last place she looked – maybe because Rachel didn't have her email address – but there it was: New message received.

A link to MySpace, that she had checked half a dozen times since getting that ping so what the hell? She clinked on it anyway and unsurprisingly a video box popped up, a black background with the words, The Wonderful Thing About Tiggers emblazoned in orange across the middle.

Grinning, and not entirely sure what to expect, she hovered her mouse over the play button, took a preparatory breath, and clicked.

Rachel stood center stage (of her bedroom) with her tiger-striped arms outstretched and then . . .

"The wonderful thing about Tiggers,

Are that Tiggers are wonderful things!

Their tops are made out of rubber . . .

Their bottoms are made out of springs!"

Rachel began to excitedly bounce around the floor space in front of the camera. Quinn sat back in her desk chair, covering her mouth to muffle her laughter.

"They're bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy,

Fun, fun, FUN!"

Rachel was bouncing on her bed and only visible from the waist down but she leapt off in time to sing,

"But the most wonderful thing about Tiggers is,

I'm the only ONE!

The most wonderful thing about Tiggers,

Is Tigger's are wonderful chaps.

They're loaded with vim and vigor

They love to leap in your laps!"

Ha, she'd broken character there! Tigger would never give the camera a sexy look like that! Quinn's hand was doing nothing to muffle her laughter now because it was clutched to her chest over how stupidly adorable this was.

"They're jumpy, bumpy, clumpy, thumpy . . ."

What did any of that even mean? Quinn held her laughter-stitch as Rachel continued and as she jumped, bumped, clumped and thumped into her furniture without a care in the world, maybe Quinn got the lyrics.

"Fun, fun, FUN!"

Quinn went off into another uncontrollable fit of giggles when Rachel jumped so high she dazed herself on her lampshade. She was so wrapped up in her delight that when there was a knock at her door she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Um . . ."

Her Daddy took that to mean 'come in' and she grabbed the nearest book to her and pushed back with her feet so that her desk chair drifted several feet from the computer.

"Honey, you've been up here alone for hours. Didn't you have plans with Finn tonight?"

She looked up with a smile. "I did. He had to cancel for a family thing. We're going out tomorrow afternoon instead." That was completely true except for the part where she had cancelled so that she could stay home and chat with Rachel. "I'm just doing some homework."

"From the way you were yucking it up in here I can only imagine your homework is more humorous than mine ever was." He eyed the book on her lap suspiciously.

Damn, why had she picked up her History book on World War Two!

"Its not amusing, it's just . . ."

And then the video – that she hadn't had the sense to pause – caught his attention.

"Tigger's are cuddly fella's

Tigger's are awfully sweet,

Everyone else is jealous,

That's why I repeat . . .

The wonderful thing about Tigger's . . ."

He gave a dry but genuine chuckle as he watched Rachel jump and twirl all over the place, "What is that?"

"It's what I was laughing at, actually," she admitted, "but its just a silly YouTube . . ."

The ice clinked in his glass as he raised it slowly to his smiling mouth. Quinn was just starting to relax when his eyes narrowed to a squint and he leaned closer to the monitor.

"Isn't that the Berry kid?"

She couldn't lie. "Yes, Daddy."

He grabbed her mouse and twisted it until he could start the video again and stood back to watch while Quinn held her breath.

Halfway through the first chorus he said, "Kid's funny. How did you get this?"

"She puts videos on the internet all the time. Even though we all make fun of her for it. She thinks she's going to be a star or something."

"Maybe she will be." Quinn smiled at the praise until he clicked a few buttons to delete the video and added, "But I don't want you watching nonsense videos all the time. That's not why we bought you your own computer. We missed you at Frannie's last night so why don't you bring your homework downstairs and I'll help you with it."

"I can do it on my . . ." He gave her a look. "Okay, Daddy."

Rachel waited until nearly ten for Quinn's response to her video but one never came. Had she not liked it? Was it not what she had been hoping for? Too silly perhaps? But it wasn't as if she could have gone in a serious direction while wearing this and they were just friends now so Quinn wouldn't have wanted sexy. Not that it would be easy to pull off sexy wearing footsie pajamas either.

She was too tired from the night before to stay up any longer and if Quinn was going to get in touch she would have done so by now. Hoping there was a benign explanation – like her internet connection was down – Rachel got ready for bed.

She stayed in the tiger-print onesie as she slipped beneath her sheets. Having fulfilled her part of the dare it was legitimately hers now anyway and even if it hadn't been Quinn would have had to rip it from her body to get it back tonight. It was incredibly soft – as she'd noted the night before – and the material had thinned at the elbows, knees and heels from much wear and many washes. Rachel was choosing to believe that that meant that Quinn had been lying about never sleeping in it and not that her aunt in Florida had purchased it second hand from a thrift store. However, despite the pajamas being only just this side of threadbare in a few places it kept her amazingly snug under her chilly covers, especially her feet – why had she never thought about procuring such bedroom apparel before? They were perfect for the cold winter months that were just beginning.

She lay on her back in the dark, content in her snugness, and thought about Quinn wearing these very same pajamas, about this supple cloth being as close to the blonde's perfect skin as it was to hers (and, fyi, she thought, worrying her bottom lip a little at her audacity, it literally couldn't get any closer . . . but if you couldn't go commando in bed, when could you?). It wouldn't have been recently, it was just the right fit on her, making it too short for Quinn now, but when they'd first met they had been almost the same height. Over the past three years Quinn had continued to grow in small spurts, but Rachel had stayed at five foot two-and-a-half. Not that it mattered now, because her smaller stature made her head the perfect height for Quinn's shoulder . . .

As sleep came slowly on her mind leisurely wandered from the pajamas themselves to cuddling with Quinn in the pajamas. After an initial pang of guilt she thought what the heck and didn't try to steer her thoughts away from the pleasant daydream. With their new status fantasies of cuddling were all that she had left. That thought wasn't as depressing as it might have been. She did have what she'd wanted all along after all – Quinn's friendship – and it was the most wonderful feeling in the world.

Stalling in her fall to slumber as she rolled comfortably onto her side, the moment afforded her some clarity. Okay, not the most wonderful feeling, she'd felt that last night when the ball of Quinn's foot had been pressing into her . . . pressing into her . . . right there. Thinking about it brought a flood of memories and sensations. It was all slightly overwhelming, to think about Quinn doing that to her, making her feel like that, making her . . . do that. She'd never even made herself do that. She should probably learn how though, right? Because Quinn had been quite clear about never allowing it to happen again and the feeling, the . . . orgasm – she rolled the word around her mind, trying it out and getting used to being someone who had actually had one – had been very nice, much better than very nice actually, and certainly something she wanted to experience again, as often as possible.

She moved her hand over the place where her desire was centered, wondering if she could recreate the feel of Quinn's foot, but the idea of doing such a thing in Quinn's Tigger pajamas (even if they were technically hers now) made her feel incredibly warm and if she became any warmer she would have to take them off and that was the last thing she wanted to do. The only way she was taking them off was if . . .

Oh.

Her thoughts switched back to Quinn insisting that she take the pyjamas off of her trembling body. Which she would no doubt do if she had any idea of what Rachel had been contemplating. She could picture Quinn's pretty eyes wild; angry at her audacity. Angry at stirrings within her own body. She imagined refusing until Quinn grew incensed enough to rip them off herself and Rachel's hand moved back between her legs.

By the time Quinn was finally back in her bedroom it was after ten-thirty and too late to try and contact Rachel. She dithered around in front of her computer for a few minutes as she tiredly tried to make up her mind whether to try anyway. Her eyes drifting closed of their own volition decided for her in the end. She would wait and send a private message in the morning before her date with Finn.

Actually, maybe she should wait until after her date with Finn just to avoid any unfair urge to cancel on him.

She stripped down in her room and pulled the yellow pajamas she'd worn the night before from under her pillow . . . and threw them into the corner before retrieving the blue striped nightshirt from her closet. She wore it all the time – without the hat obviously – so it wasn't weird that she wanted to wear it tonight. The cotton felt cool and clean against her skin but smelled exactly as she knew it would.

Rachelness.

Smiling a silly little smile and feeling like more of a pervert than she was really happy with, she slipped beneath her comforter, which also smelled like . . . yep, Rachel.

She was either going to have really, really good dreams all night, or terrifyingly disturbing ones but, honestly, as long as they included Rachel, she didn't really care. She'd agreed to being friends with her, which was monumentally stupid and was going to be so hard, but Quinn would do her best to make it work. Rachel was important to her and the girl was right – what they had was too special to just be ignored.

The memory of laying exactly where she was now and kissing her came back, like it was trying to prove her a fake, but she wouldn't be brought down. The memory was too good to have bad feelings attached.

Besides, close friends were affectionate, weren't they? True, she'd never kissed Santana or Brittany for fun (except during that one game of Truth or Dare) but maybe that was just because they'd always had each other to snuggle and kiss with. It wasn't like she'd ever had any other close friends to compare it to. Maybe, like they'd decided to make their own rules for dating, they could make their own rules for friendship too?

Admit it, you just want to kiss her again.

'Fine, I admit it.' There was no point lying to someone omnipotent anyway. 'You're here because I forgot to pray, aren't you?'

She'd been too caught up in thoughts of Rachel and the smell of Rachel and, well, everything Rachel. It was now a common problem. Groaning under her breath, she rolled out of bed to her knees.

"Dear Jesus," she said quietly, forehead resting on her clasped hands. "Please help the starving kids in Africa and give all the homeless people somewhere warm to sleep tonight. And the world economy is a mess, if you could give someone in power a nudge in the right direction so they can fix it, that would be good." Okay, she had been praying every night for literally as long as she could remember, occasionally she ran out of fresh ideas. "Also . . ."

Rachel?

"Yes. Give me the strength to just be her friend. Give me the sense to know when I need to back off. Give me the grace to respect her feelings when things get difficult and I want to lash out." She closed her eyes tighter. "Because they will get difficult. And give me the will to love Finn as he deserves to be, or the bravery to let him go." She was silent for a few minutes, thinking back on her last utterance but trying not to think about which she wanted more, and then sent up her final prayer for the night, the same one as every night, "And please bless my daughter, because its not her fault she was conceived out of wedlock or love. I take full responsibility for that. Please don't ever let her suffer for my mistakes. Amen."

She crawled back into bed, less cheerful than she had the first time, and wrapped her arms around herself, around the nightshirt Rachel had worn last night, and waited for sleep to come.

Thankfully, when it did it didn't disappoint. Although waking up to mental images of Rachel naked and writhing to the pleasures of her foot probably wasn't going to help her out much, especially when she had to get up and go to church!

Sunday passed in a blur for Rachel.

A farmers market with her dads in the morning, followed by lunch at Lima's only legitimate vegetarian establishment to make up for having to wander around all of the meat stalls.

Her afternoon was split between helping her Daddy bake cupcakes for a work pot-luck and a surprise visit from Tina.

"So . . ." Tina began.

"So," Rachel agreed.

They were sitting in the family room, both trying to lounge on the couch but too apprehensive to really pull it off.

"I just thought I'd come by and say hi."

Rachel nodded, "So you said." Silence fell between them again and she wondered whether she should turn the TV on, as a distraction for them both. "Was that all you wanted to say?"

"Uh . . ."

"Because while it is very nice to see you, Tina, I can't quite tell if you're here because you want to be or because someone put you up to it as a dare."

Tina gave her a small smile, "I want to be. I'm just not very good at this."

"Me either. If, and I admit I am assuming here, you are talking about making friends."

Tina let out a relieved breath, "I am. I've always been really shy."

"You don't come across that way."

"Being in Glee changed things for me. I can't believe now that I nearly didn't come to the audition because I was so scared. It's taken a while but Glee club has made me realize how much I was missing out on by being too shy to let people in."

"Glee club makes you special," Rachel nodded again. "And I commend your personal growth, but I'm still not sure what brings you to my door."

"You're a large part of what makes it special, Rachel. You're not always that likeable, but Artie made me realize the other day that we all have things that push others away and maybe the real magic of Glee club is that it helps us look beyond those things and see what's really there."

"That's a lovely sentiment, Tina. Would you like to stay and watch a movie with me?" She gestured at the DVD case. "My dads have a wide selection of crime thrillers and horror movies."

Tina's nose wrinkled, "Do you have any musicals?"

A shocked face beat passed before Rachel beamed at her. "I have fifteen I can lay my hands on. Wait here, I'll go and get them."

They watched My Fair Lady which wasn't usually her favourite but having a fellow aficionado by her side to share a bowl of popcorn with greatly enhanced the experience.