AN: Trigger warning for brief mention of past sexual assault.
VI
The last leg of their trip is along the Garden Route.
Michelle gives them a brief list of places to visit, Mickey gives them some wine, Rob gives them his favoured soccer ball, and Moira gives them tearful hugs. The seven-year-old holds onto Quinn for ages, and Michelle verbally wonders if Moira's just experienced her first crush and subsequent heartbreak.
Neither Rachel nor Quinn has explicitly confirmed the status of their relationship, but the few days they've spent around the lodge must have given people an idea. There are only a few ways to explain hand-holding and kisses to foreheads and cheeks.
Rachel says, "If ever you're in New York," and they both know the chances of meeting again are low. They do exchange email addresses, and then she and Quinn are on their way back to Johannesburg for their flight to a place called Port Elizabeth.
Frankly, Rachel didn't think she was what she would call a beach person. Growing up in Ohio didn't really offer much exposure, and she wouldn't really classify New York as a beach place, either. There's water, of course, but there's a beach culture that Rachel discovers only when she has her toes buried in the sand in Plettenberg Bay.
Quinn opts to do the driving herself, the two of them wanting to travel at their own pace and be able to stop and explore whenever they see anything of interest.
They visit more National Parks, getting to meet elephants and lions, and then encountering more ostriches than Rachel could have imagined. They go kayaking, which really seems like a good idea until they actually do it.
They spend an entire morning whale-watching in Hermanus, and then spend the afternoon at a vineyard picking berries and trying various wines.
It's something Rachel has noticed but never felt the need to mention. Quinn drinks only wine. Nothing else. Not even when they go out to bars with their friends. It's always just wine. Rachel didn't used to think there was some particular reason behind it beyond her preference, but she's constantly learning new things about her wife.
Rachel says, "Michelle mentioned that cocktail bar we should try when we get to Cape Town," and Quinn hums around the bite of roasted potato she's just put in her mouth.
They're sitting outside on a rock patio, overlooking the vineyard, and Rachel has already snapped far too many pictures of Quinn in this setting. She just looks so stunning, Clubmaster sunglasses over her eyes and a beautiful tan on her skin.
"But you don't even drink cocktails, do you?" Rachel observes, and Quinn's mouth twitches.
"I - no, I don't suppose I do."
Rachel leans forward slightly. "Too sweet for you?"
"Too strong," Quinn says instead. "I don't - I'm not a fan of - " she stops. "I just know I can handle my wine."
"You don't like getting drunk," Rachel guesses.
"I don't like not being in control of myself," she says, and visibly squirms as she says the words. She looks so deeply uncomfortable that even Rachel feels it.
"Quinn?"
She looks away, jaw clenching tightly. "You've never asked," she says to a point over Rachel's shoulder. "About Beth's father."
Rachel stiffens in her seat, blinking behind her own sunglasses. "No, I haven't."
"Thank you for that."
"I figured you would talk about it if you wanted to," she says. "I know there are things we don't mention to each other."
Quinn nods slowly, setting her cutlery against her plate with a soft clink. "I was drunk," she says after a moment. "That night. I was drunk."
Something in her words makes Rachel feel cold all over, a chill falling over her and stealing her appetite.
Quinn still won't look at her. "He was a year older, and he was my boyfriend's best friend, both of them destined for big, important things. I didn't - I wasn't aware he even liked me like that, but I learned quite quickly he never actually held any affection for me." She clears her throat. "I don't really remember drinking all that much, to be honest. Brett got me this random sweet mixed drink. My boyfriend. And then he kind of disappeared. It was - I mean, the guy, he was just a nice guy, you know? Charming. Bit of a player, but people generally liked him because he was such a nice guy. I even liked him. Just not - "
Rachel wants to reach out and touch her, but her body is so tightly coiled and she doesn't want to hinder her flow.
"We were at this party at his house, and, well, things... happened. Not good things." She audibly swallows, shifting in her seat as if the ghost of the memory has physically touched her. "Nobody believed that I didn't want it, because - I don't know, he's such a nice guy, right? Brett was enraged, and my parents, they were so disappointed. And then I ended up pregnant, and I went through this state of - I can't even explain it."
Rachel aches. Every part of her just aches.
"I basically committed the quadfecta, in my parents' eyes: premarital sex, adultery, false accusation and unplanned pregnancy." She laughs, and it's this ugly, dark sound that just doesn't suit her. "Though, I imagine it's that I essentially embarrassed them in front of their precious patrons that really made the decision for them."
Rachel doesn't want to think about Quinn at that time, lost and alone, only sixteen and forced into making life-altering decisions with no familial support. She doesn't want to wonder about what state Quinn must have been in. Just the thought of it - God.
"I stayed with a friend for a few months," Quinn continues after a moment. "But I was still in school with them, and I would see all the people who used to be mine around town, and I just - I needed out, and I knew I could never bring a baby into that kind of environment." Her food looks thoroughly abandoned, and Rachel feels bad about it for a moment. "Nadine suggested an adoption agency one night, and then I did my research.
"I wasn't sure what I was looking for, you know? I thought, if I could just get my baby somewhere safe, with someone who will love and take care of her, then I can figure things out for myself apart from her. Like, it wouldn't matter if I ended up living in some shitty apartment or ate ramen for the rest of my life, if I knew she was somewhere she could grow to be happy and healthy.
"Then I met Marcella, and she must have seen something in me, because she offered me more of a way out. She offered me this once-in-a-lifetime chance, and I took it. God, I grabbed for it with both hands and moved to Long Island without a second thought." Her laugh is one of relief now. "It was so weird, though. Like, so weird. I transferred schools, gave birth to a human baby, almost self-destructed, and somehow managed to get into Yale."
Rachel's brow furrows, because she's pretty sure Quinn mentioned she want to school in Boston.
"I couldn't afford it, of course, but I managed to get a partial scholarship to BCU, so I took out a loan and worked through the rest. I just - I wanted to become something, after having been made to feel like nothing for so long."
It is amazing that Rachel can be married and completely in love with her, but not know any of this.
"I don't know if I'd say the rest is history, exactly, but I've moved on rather extremely from the teenager I once was," Quinn says. "I don't - I know people say their experiences don't define them or whatever, but I believe mine do. All of that; everything I've been through has brought me to this person sitting across from you, and I - I just - does any of it matter when all I want is to love you?"
Rachel realises, almost belatedly, that Quinn is genuinely asking her if it does matter. She's honestly so silly. "Of course not," her mouth says. "God, of course not, Quinn."
Quinn's smile is a little shaky, but it's present.
"Has it mattered before?"
Her smile slips. "Remember that woman I mentioned, from my intern year?"
As if Rachel needed more incentive to hate her.
"I think she would have been more accepting of Beth's existence if I hadn't mentioned her origins," Quinn explains. "But, whatever, you know, she obviously wasn't meant for me, and I found my forever person eventually."
Rachel reaches a hand out, offering it to Quinn.
Quinn takes it, squeezing gently.
"Does Beth know?"
Here, Quinn hesitates in a way that's very telling. "She knows parts of it," she finally confesses. "I don't know how to tell her she was conceived from violence."
Rachel closes her eyes at the reminder. "She's grown with love, Quinn," she says. "That's something you and Marcella have given her."
"She'll hate me if I tell her now."
"No, she won't," Rachel assures her, and she truly believes it. Beth could never hate Quinn. It's borderline impossible, and Rachel knows this because she's tried. "She might be angry and hurt, but none of that will be in relation to herself."
Quinn frowns, clearly confused.
"It'll be for you," Rachel clarifies. "Kind of what I'm feeling right now."
Quinn looks a little stumped by the revelation, but then she smiles. "You want to know who he is, so you can go and beat him up?"
"I would destroy him," Rachel says, and the severity in her tone makes Quinn's smile evaporate.
"I love you for that," Quinn says; "but it's not necessary. It's not okay, and I'm definitely not okay with what happened, but I've been through a lot of therapy to deal with it, and I've just about arrived at this point in my life where I know Beth and everything she brings to my life outweighs all the pain and loss that came with actually having her."
Rachel might cry. The tears even pool in her eyes, so she retracts her hand and wipes at her eyes.
"Baby," Quinn says, shaking her head. "I'm fine. I promise I'm fine."
"I know you are," Rachel says; "which is what is so amazing."
Quinn ducks her head, suddenly bashful, and Rachel loves her more in this moment than she ever has before.
"Just know that I love you," Rachel says. "And I'm proud of you, for all you've accomplished and for whom you've managed to become."
Quinn shakes her head. "We're both going to end up in tears, aren't we?"
"Because you're a sympathetic crier," she lightly accuses.
Quinn uses her napkin to dab below her eyes. "I'm a simple being, Dr Berry," she says with a shrug; "my wife cry, I cry."
The view is something spectacular.
Rachel already knew this, of course, but adding Quinn to the view makes it infinitely better in every way possible. She's a little sweaty, wisps of hair stuck to her forehead, and a slight burn on the pears of her cheeks, but she looks so happy.
Now, in another life with another woman, Rachel might have strongly rejected any mention of a hike, but Quinn is Quinn and Rachel loves Quinn, which is really why she's currently breathless and a little sore while standing at the top of a massive piece of rock called Lion's Head.
Quinn takes pictures of every angle of their view, spinning right around and making sure to document Rachel's flushed face in the sunlight, the magical blue ocean behind her back.
"Beautiful," Quinn murmurs, looking at the screen of her camera. "If I weren't already married to you, I'd ask you to marry me right here right now."
"Reckon it'd be more romantic than the time you actually did ask?"
Quinn seems to think hard about it. "I'm pretty sure we were both naked when I asked, so probably not."
"Oh, my God."
Quinn laughs. "It's a no-brainer, Rachel," she says. "Why are you even asking?"
"Romance does not equate to nakedness."
"Then we definitely haven't been doing it right."
"I think we do it just fine, thank you very much."
Quinn looks so stupidly pleased with herself that Rachel can't even be annoyed. "I love you," she says.
Rachel sticks out her tongue at her.
"Careful now," Quinn murmurs, waving her closer to take a selfie of the two of them. "I know exactly where that tongue has been."
Well.
"And where it's going to be tonight."
While Quinn is willing to spend copious amounts of money on upscale restaurants aplenty, she's really more interested in finding the hidden gems of local food in the city. Cape Town is such a mixture of religions and cultures and traditions and colours, and there definitely isn't enough time for them to experience it all before their flight back to New York.
Quinn isn't necessarily slated to do any Foundation work while they're in the Mother City, but she sneaks out on a Thursday morning while Rachel is deep in slumber and visits a handful of clinics in one of the townships as a donor and volunteer.
Rachel can't even be mad, because this is who her wife is; it's what she does. Offering her time and her money and her skills.
Rachel would feel slightly guilty for it on a different trip, but she spends her morning in the hotel's spa instead, before the two of them pack in a tour of Robben Island to see Nelson Mandela's prison cell and a visit to the Two Ocean's Aquarium, before having dinner at the Shimmy Beach Club.
Quinn surprises her by ordering a cocktail - a Southern Vine - which she sips at a few times before offering it to Rachel while she reverts to a Chardonnay.
"Too strong?" Rachel asks, slightly concerned.
Quinn sucks at her teeth as she shakes her head. "Too sweet."
The two of them decided, prior to leaving on their trip, that they would keep contact with anyone back home at a minimum. The only people they really spoke to were Beth and Marcella, which is why Rachel expects to arrive back to -
Well.
Whatever she expected is nothing like what she finds.
As far as Rachel is aware, three weeks isn't really all that long. Sure, things can happen and changes can be implemented, but three weeks is only twenty-one days and what could possibly happen, right?
Rachel arrives at New Budapest Hospital on Monday morning to find Jesse waiting for her, looking both solemn and irritated in a way she's never seen him.
She doesn't even greet him. Just says, "What happened?"
Jesse reaches for her arm and drags her further into the hospital. "What happened," he mutters. "What happened, she asks."
She follows obediently, and then yelps when he suddenly tugs her into an on-call room and slams the door. "Jesse," she says, because they haven't been alone together like this since their first month of marriage.
"Rachel," he says, and then starts pacing. "Sam got fired."
"What?" Her voice is a little high when the word comes out, because - what?
"Your father."
"What did he do?"
Jesse runs a hand through his hair. "Okay. So."
"Should I be asking: what did you do?"
Jesse stops walking. "I just did what you told me to do."
"What did I tell you to do?"
"Show him how I feel."
Rachel goes still. "Jesse, what on earth did you do?"
"You know how LeRoy has been slowly losing it, right?" Jesse starts. "There's been all this talk of doctors wanting to leave, and - "
"Sam was one of them?"
"I don't know," he says. "I don't think it even mattered to him. LeRoy wanted answers, because he knows Sam is Quinn's friend, and Santana wouldn't tell him a single thing."
Rachel can see it playing out the way he describes. Her father is particularly hell-bent on making this hospital nationally the best, and you need the best doctors to do that. If he started to think his prized possessions were bound to jump ship, he would want to know just whom he would have to replace, or work on improving contracts to keep them.
"Sam didn't even know anything," Jesse says; "but LeRoy wouldn't let up, and I - I kind of lost it."
Rachel blinks. "What do you mean you lost it?"
Jesse looks away guiltily. "I mean I went Bohemian Rhapsody levels of dump-fest on our Chief right in front of everyone."
"I don't understand."
"I came to Sam's defence while LeRoy was unfairly berating him, and it turned into something ugly, borne of pent-up frustration I've held onto since before we were even married."
"Jesse."
"No," he says, voice harsh. "You don't know anything."
"What don't I know?"
Jesse turns away. "I loved you, you know," he says. "Not nearly as much as Quinn does, but I did. I would have done anything to keep you happy."
"Jesse."
"You had dreams elsewhere," Jesse says. "I know it, and your fathers knew it, and so did your mother."
Rachel stiffens. They don't talk about Shelby. They never talk about her. She doesn't even mention the woman to Quinn.
"She didn't decide she didn't want you, Rachel," he says, and she'll wonder how he knows this at a later time. "The decision was never hers."
"I don't - what are you saying?"
"You were never going to become a Berry Legacy surgeon if Shelby stayed in your life and you know it."
There.
He doesn't even need to say the words, but he still says, "So they made sure she wouldn't be."
Subconsciously, Jesse is telling her something she already knows. It's a thought that's floated through her mind several times - more potently on those nights she spent cramming for exams instead of sleeping - but she's never quite latched onto it.
"LeRoy now knows I know, and he - "
"He fired Sam as a warning to you not to tell me," she finishes, and then steps back and drops onto the bed behind her. It's a lot to come back to, and she almost pinches herself to make sure she's not still in the sex coma she was in just two days ago.
Maybe it's just jet lag.
Jesse sits beside her. "Granted, he also caught Sam and Blaine having sex in a supply closet."
Rachel turns to look at him. "Jesse."
"Blaine is technically his superior, and you know LeRoy's claim to fame is his Trauma Centre, so obviously Blaine wasn't going anywhere, and Sam was considered dispensable."
Rachel clenches her jaw. "It doesn't make it right."
"It's not."
She sighs. "How's Sam doing?"
"I don't know," he says. "He's not quite talking to me at the moment."
Rachel pats his leg in sympathy. "I'm sorry," she says. "It doesn't - I don't know what I can do."
"If you let him know you know, he'll probably find a way to fire me, too."
Rachel shakes her head. "You bring in some of the most money for the hospital," she says. "He won't just let you go."
"And you still grumble about Plastics."
Rachel bumps her shoulder against his. "It's just that it fits you so well."
"I resent that."
She sighs again. "Why is there so much drama in this place?" she asks. "I go away for three weeks and - "
"Your ex-husband basically kamikazes his lover's career?"
She hums. "I wouldn't worry too much about that," she says. "Quinn will make sure Sam lands on his feet." At least that's one less thing for them to worry about. "As for what to do about my father... well."
"Well, what?"
"The one thing he wants, besides the number one hospital in the city, is a Berry legacy, right?"
Jesse nods, trying to follow what she's trying to tell him.
"Well, Dr St James," she says; "It just so happens I have the power to take both those things away from him."
"You want to what?"
Rachel should probably improve her timing of revelations, because it's really a miracle Quinn doesn't spill her coffee all over herself.
Rachel hands her a dish towel. "Change my surname," she repeats. "I want to change it."
"To what?"
Rachel gives her a look, because it's almost as if she's being intentionally obtuse. "To yours, Quinn."
It's Quinn's turn to give her a particular look, as if she doesn't understand what Rachel is trying to tell her. "You want to be a Fabray?"
"I want to be yours," she says, which sounds kind of horrible when she says it like that. It's just - "I don't want to be his, anymore."
Quinn's expression softens with clarity. "Oh."
Their positions are familiar: Quinn seated at the kitchen table and Rachel standing nervously. There's a lot they have to talk about that happened at their respective workplaces today, but this feels like the most important.
Rachel moves to sit in her lap, which is another familiar position. "I haven't told you about my mother," she says. "Not really."
Quinn's hands hold her waist, keeping her steady.
"I didn't know her until I was in high school," she explains. "I mean, my parents informed me of her existence, of course, but it was a closed adoption and we weren't meant to meet until I was at least past eighteen." Her fingers play with the ends of Quinn's hair. "But then we met. She was a show choir director at one of our rival schools, and I - gosh, she was just so cool. I was desperate to know her, and for her to know me.
"We got along really well, you know, and I learned so much about musical theatre from her. I wasn't quite sold on pursuing medicine, even though I knew it was what my fathers both wanted. Then I met Shelby, and I knew I wanted music. I wanted to perform on stages and sing in arenas."
Quinn's right hand sneaks under her top, fingers soft against her skin, and it is a welcome comfort.
"But then she was just gone," Rachel tells her. "Disappeared into thin air, leaving a letter saying she made a mistake meeting me the way she did. She told me she thought she could be a mother to me, but she was wrong. She wasn't willing. She couldn't be what I needed, apparently. I just wasn't what she was expecting. I wasn't what she wanted." She takes a breath, refusing to give into the emotions behind that memory. "Then I wanted nothing to do with her, or with music, and I just had it confirmed that it was all by design."
Quinn's eyebrows rise in surprise, before they knit together in barely-suppressed rage.
"I eventually chose medicine," Rachel says. "Or, that's what it looked like."
"Rachel."
"I love my job," she says. "I love what I do more than anything. I have no regrets about any of it, and I never will."
"But..."
"But I want it to be mine," she says, and her voice cracks. "It's supposed to be mine."
Quinn holds her close, her forehead resting against Rachel's collarbone. "Then why would you want it to be mine?" she murmurs.
Rachel rests her head against hers, eyes closing. "Because I love you," she whispers.
"And I love you," Quinn says. "But you know as well as I do that you should be yours, my love."
"It's just a surname."
Quinn lifts her head. "Maybe we should ditch both our surnames," she blurts, as if the thought has just popped up in her head. "Why would you want to be a Fabray, anyway?"
"Because you're a Fabray."
"Baby, we can be anything we want to be," Quinn tells her. "You said it yourself: it's just a surname."
Rachel kisses her cheek. "Just randomly pick a new one, you mean?"
"Why not?" Quinn says. "And, I mean, it doesn't have to be random. We can be Spencers."
As lovely as that sentiment sounds, Rachel doesn't think going into a Spencer Foundation hospital with a changed surname to Spencer would be a smart thing to do. If Quinn had claimed the name earlier, maybe it would make more sense.
Quinn tilts her head to the side. "Better yet," she says; "we could be Vegas like Marcella and Beth. Even Garcias. You and me, we could be anything."
"Everything," Rachel murmurs, and Quinn kisses her cheek. "I do love you, you know?"
"I know."
"And, I do want to be yours, because it's a choice I'm making," she says. "I know women who've stuck it to the patriarchy and all that by keeping their own surnames instead of taking their husbands, but you're basically choosing one man's - your father's - over another man's, and doesn't that defeat the purpose?"
Quinn hums. "I'm not a man."
"Believe me, I'm aware."
Quinn raises her eyebrows, hearing something specific in her voice. It's not foreign for Rachel to be the one to initiate sex, but it happens less often than the other way around. "You want me," Quinn lightly accuses, looking amused.
"I always want you," Rachel assures her. "Also, if you're a Fabray, I want to be a Fabray. I want our children to have our name. I don't want them to be touched by the name Berry. Not when it comes with the expectation to be part of a legacy I've been manipulated into."
"Are you sure?"
She nods. "I didn't think about it at the time, but the first thing my father asked me after I told him we were married is if I was still Dr Berry."
Quinn's jaw clenches, and Rachel loves her sympathetic anger.
"This is what I've chosen," Rachel says. "You are whom I've chosen, and I think that makes all the difference."
Quinn studies her face for a moment, searching for any signs of uncertainty. "Okay," she finally says.
"Okay," she returns. "Now, take me to bed."
Quinn glances at her cup of coffee, and then up at the ceiling. She groans. "Baby, I can't."
"Wow," Rachel jokes; "I honestly didn't know if I would ever hear you say those words."
Quinn fakes a laugh. "Sam is on his way over," she explains. "We're going to talk shop, and I'd really like to be able to take my time with you."
"Hmm."
"Don't do that," Quinn says. "Don't pull that face. That's your 'I'm-going-to-tease-you-to-within-an-inch-of-your-life' face. Put it away."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she says, just a little too innocently, as she presses a kiss to her cheek and then gets to her feet. "I'll just be in our bedroom, lying down. Relaxing. Doing things, maybe. By myself."
Quinn lets out a long-suffering sigh. "You're evil, woman."
Rachel just laughs, throwing a wink over her shoulder. "Gonna do something about it?" she challenges, continuing on her way out of the kitchen. And then shrieking in surprise when Quinn suddenly lunges for her, chasing her all the way to their bedroom.
Sam ends up having to wait a long, long time.
Rachel, in all honesty, doesn't expect Sam to stay as long as he does. She remains holed up in their bedroom for almost two hours after Quinn goes to meet and talk with him in their living area, but she eventually gets hungry and decides a trip to the kitchen is needed.
It's just a shame she actually has to get dressed. She throws on one of Quinn's t-shirts and a pair of her own leggings. Her feet are bare, hair pulled into a messy ponytail, and phone in hand.
Maybe she'll warm up some soup.
She makes her way to the kitchen as quietly as she can. She doesn't actually hear voices as she makes her way through the apartment and she slips right into the kitchen, relieved not to encounter either Sam or Quinn... only to come face-to-face with Sam Evans.
He's just standing there, cup of coffee in his hand and leaning against a counter.
Rachel startles at the sight of him, and he just looks amused by her reaction. "I - hello, Sam," she says.
"Evening, Rachel," he says with a smile. "Want some coffee?"
She blinks. "Um, sure."
He turns, finds a second cup, and then pours coffee from the pot. She remains where she is, caught off guard. "Quinn's fetching dinner, apparently," he explains. "If you were wondering where she was. She mentioned you two hadn't actually had dinner yet."
Because they were too busy eating each other.
"Do you take sugar?" he asks. "Milk?"
Rachel probably isn't going to be drinking the coffee. She usually doesn't consume caffeine this late unless there's a sex marathon on the table, so she says, "Just like that is fine, thank you."
Sam crosses the kitchen to hand it to her, and it is during the exchange that she says, "I'm sorry about my father."
Sam freezes.
She takes the cup and steps back, leaning against the counter behind her. "He did a shitty thing. I suppose doing shitty things runs in my family."
Sam nods once, and then returns to his own coffee. "I think I'll be okay," he says. "I already had Fellowship offers. As long as I still get to take my Boards, I don't think it's the worst thing to happen to me."
"Doesn't make it right."
"No, it doesn't."
Rachel looks away, visibly debating over the merit of saying her next words. Jesse can kill her later. She says, "He really likes you, you know." She waits a beat. "He might even love you."
Sam looks as if he would rather be talking about literally anything else in the world. "Did he tell you that?" he asks.
"He didn't have to."
Sam sighs. "I don't think I've been fair to him," he admits, and it becomes increasingly clear she and Sam have never really talked before. Least of all about their potential relationships. "I almost feel as if I forced him into doing something to prove himself to me, and then it all ended in disaster for us both." He runs a hand through his hair. "And Blaine. God, don't even get my started on Blaine."
Rachel manages a smile. "You're popular, Sam."
"I'm suddenly pretty glad I no longer work there," he says. "It was already a complicated situation before Jesse basically announced us to the entire hospital. It was literally all everyone could talk about for those few days. I don't know how you can handle all the gossip about you, and about Quinn, every single day."
"It's - yeah, it's not easy," she says. "I want to say it's something you can get used to, but that would be a lie."
"It's worse than high school."
"I'm hoping HG Memorial will be a better work environment," she comments lightly, and Sam smiles.
"So, you are moving over," he states.
She laughs. "Was it ever in doubt?"
Sam opens his mouth to reply, but closes it when they hear the front door open and Quinn appears with two bags of food. Rachel is suddenly very aware of how hungry she actually is.
Quinn grins widely when she sees her. "Hungry?" she asks, lifting the bags to her chin. "Thought so."
Rachel just waves her hands, beckoning her closer.
"Tell me how much you love me," Quinn teases, closing the door behind her and walking straight to Rachel. She presses a kiss to her cheek.
"Only if you brought me what I think you brought me."
"I have."
Rachel can practically smell the Tom Yum soup she was craving. How Quinn even knew that; she'll never know. "I love you," she says.
Quinn hums. "How much?"
Rachel reaches out to touch her, her next words on the tip of her tongue.
Only, Sam clears his throat, merely reminding them he's still there. "My God," he says; "Beth was right: you two are gross."
And, really, they can't even dispute it.
Two weeks later, she and Quinn visit the Henry Garcia Memorial Hospital for Children with the knowledge they're little more than a month away from the grand opening. It's basically complete, just left with a few finer finishings and maintenance. Supplies have been purchased and stored, and forms and patient systems have been printed and created.
Some doctors have even begun moving into their assigned offices if they have them, and both Quinn and Rachel visit their own respective ones for the first time.
It is a fascinating thing to see her name on a plaque at the side of her door. Her name.
Dr Rachel Fabray, M.D.
Head of Paediatric General Surgery
She grins rather stupidly when she sees it, and then kisses Quinn silly once they're inside. It'll take a bit of getting used to, she's sure, but she has no regrets about the change. She's going to establish herself separate to her father here, but she likes the idea of being connected to Quinn this way.
Ordinarily, Quinn wouldn't have her own office, but she's also an administrator - whatever that means - so she needs a place to keep her stuff. That's how Quinn describes it when Rachel asks, and she doesn't demand more of an explanation beyond the fact Quinn represents the Spencer Foundation's official presence in the hospital, on top of being a surgeon.
They explore the various floors and wings together, gushing over all the new equipment and admiring how their ideas have been made a reality. Rachel is most proud of the Surgical Wing, all six operating rooms top-of-the-line and delightfully functional. She can't wait to get started. To make a difference.
Quinn is obviously most excited about her Trauma Centre. It's designed by her hand, the flow and spacing exactly as she wanted. They don't expect to have similar emergency traffic to other hospitals, given they're a Children's hospital, but that doesn't mean Quinn isn't going to strive to run the best Emergency Room in the damn city. Maybe even the state.
Emergency Services is just one branch they're focused on. Baby and Child, Chronic Illness and Mental Health are some of the other branches, all of them aimed at providing complete and comprehensive care for all their patients. Within Baby and Child, there are further divided departments based on various paediatric specialties, the hospital filled with some of the best medical minds in their fields. Doctors collected from all over the country; even all over the world.
Rachel is prouder of what they've managed to do than she's been of anything else, and she plans to tell Quinn every single day.
It is while they're in the cafeteria that they meet Cassandra July.
If Rachel is being honest, she almost doesn't recognise the woman when she approaches the pair of them. She's obviously already familiar with Quinn, and there's an awkward moment where Quinn can't decide if she has to introduce Rachel when she's aware the two women must already know each other.
"Berry," Cassandra says. "Didn't think I'd see you again."
Rachel glances at Quinn for a beat, and then forces a smile. "Still trying to save the world," she says.
"Uh huh." Cassandra looks at Quinn. "You married a Berry, I see."
"I go by Fabray now," Rachel informs her, not willing to be ignored while she's standing right there. It feels good to say it, even if she's still getting used to it.
Cassandra looks at her, and Rachel would think she looked mildly impressed if she weren't so surprised. "Well, well," she says, and, yip, she definitely sounds impressed. "That's bold," she comments. "What does your father think about that?"
It's the first time Rachel wonders if Cassandra's initial hostility was all linked to her father instead of her.
Huh.
She shrugs. "That's his problem."
Cassandra smiles like it's a secret, and Rachel is suitably thrown by just how similar the expression is to Quinn's. Wow. Okay. "I think we're going to do a lot of good here," she says. "I find I'm looking forward to it."
Quinn is weirdly quiet throughout the entire interaction, and then she's even more subdued as they finish their hospital tour and start for home. It isn't stress - well, it isn't solely stress - but it's obvious she's thinking about something serious.
Rachel pulls them into a coffee shop, because coffee usually loosens Quinn up.
This time, though, it rather makes her more tense, which just confuses Rachel even more. She knows she's going to have to ask. There's no escaping it, really. She has to ask the question.
They find a table with their drinks and sit for nine minutes before Quinn says, "Did anything ever happen between the two of you?"
Rachel doesn't quite follow what she's asking, until she just does. Oh.
Oh.
Quinn is - God, Quinn is jealous.
"No, nothing ever happened," she says. "We just never got along."
"But you wanted it to?"
Rachel opens her mouth to deny it, but she can't realistically do that. "If I did, I wasn't aware of it at the time," she admits. "I think she just enjoys pushing my buttons. I was quite different when I was in her residency program."
"How so?"
"Not okay," she says. "Not happy. Disillusioned. A little lost." She clears her throat. "She knew me before I declared Paeds. She knew me before I found my place." Her foot slides along the floor, seeking Quinn's. "She knew me before I found you, and you have made all the difference."
Quinn nods slowly, digesting the words.
"I think a lot of her animosity stemmed from the fact I'm a Berry," she says. "It might be a surgery legacy surname, but not everything attached to it is good."
"Baby, you're no longer a Berry."
She smiles, pleased. "No, I'm not," she confirms. "I think it's time I let my father know."
Quinn grins, perking up. "You're also going to have to tell him you're terminating your contract."
"His head is going to explode."
"What I would give to be a fly on the wall for that conversation."
Rachel laughs softly. "I'll FaceTime you and put you in my pocket."
Quinn must think she's joking, because she also laughs and then offers no rebuttal or approval. But Rachel isn't joking. Why would she joke about a thing like that? That's why she got married. To share her life with her partner, all the bad and all the good things.
But, more importantly, to mess with their in-laws.
Of course, it helps that Quinn determines her own schedule at the moment, so she answers when Rachel calls as she's on her way to her father's office the next day. They've talked about it a bit more, and Rachel now has an arsenal of ammunition to use against her father. At this point, she just wants to get out of New Budapest with her reputation and career still intact.
Rachel finds him in his office when she goes looking. They haven't spoken in so long; she can't remember the last time they had a meaningful conversation. Maybe at the wedding?
She can't say a lot has changed from her youth. Being the only daughter of surgeons can be lonely. She's a lot closer to Hiram, who shifted to private practice when she was in high school and so had more time to spend with her. After the divorce, LeRoy moved to New York to further his own career, and Rachel eventually followed.
At first, they worked independent of each other, in different hospitals and in separate specialties. But she's always been a Berry, and LeRoy Berry is a name known in the surgical world.
Now, so will Fabray.
Rachel knocks on his door and steps inside. "Got a minute?"
LeRoy looks reluctant, because he probably has an idea of what this conversation must be about. If it's not about Jesse, it's about her job, and both things don't bode well for their relationship.
Rachel closes the door behind her when he waves her further inside. She has no idea how long this is going to take, but they probably need the illusion of privacy. She moves to sit in one of the chairs opposite his desk, tucks her legs under the chair and opens her mouth, surprising herself with the words she actually ends up saying.
"Why did you and Dad get divorced?"
If the question surprises him as well, he doesn't let it show. Surgeons are generally unflappable, but neurosurgeons especially. It can be annoying at times. "Excuse me?"
"Why did you and Dad get divorced?" she asks again, choosing to roll with this line of questioning. It'll all tie together in the end, but she can just imagine Quinn's confusion. "It was while I was a freshman in college, but things really started to get bad my senior year of high school. What happened?"
LeRoy looks predictably stumped, and she expects him to feed her something of a lie, which is why it's a surprise when he doesn't.
"We didn't see eye-to-eye about some important things," he finally says.
"To do with me."
He clears his throat. "He wasn't on board with what I've had to do to ensure you continue to have a successful future."
It's not a confirmation of what she already knows, but it's enough. It's enough that her heart goes still in her chest, wondering just what happened between him, Shelby and Hiram to get her to this exact point in her life.
Does it even matter?
Whatever happened, she's already here. This is her life, and it's not a terrible one. In fact, it's actually pretty good. She has an enviable career, where she gets to do good every day. She has a roof over her head and food in her fridge. She has her health.
But, most importantly, she has love.
She has Quinn.
Suddenly, none of that other stuff even matters. Everything she's prepared. Everything she thought she wanted to say to him; throw in his face. It just doesn't matter.
With her lips pressed into a thin line, Rachel presents the envelope she has with her. "It's my resignation," she says when he just stares at it. "I'll serve my one-month notice, transition my department to work without me and even find you a replacement if you want, and then I'll be gone."
"Gone," he echoes, unmoving. "Gone where?"
"You already know."
His gaze stays on her for a long, long time. "You asked me why," he says. "Why I made Quinn be the one to tell you. Why I didn't do it myself."
Before today, Rachel couldn't have figured it out for herself, but it's clear now. "It's because you knew I was already in love with her," she says. "You knew I wouldn't leave New Budapest, if it was her who told me, but I would leave, if it were you. All you've wanted was to keep me here."
"She wasn't meant to take you away."
"She's not taking me anywhere," she says. "Quinn has never forced me into anything I didn't want to do." The unlike you is left unsaid, but they both know it's there. "Instead, she's hurt herself keeping your truths from me, to save me from the pain of knowing exactly what you've done." She pauses. "Apparently, that's a trait I look for in a spouse," she adds, which has Jesse written all over it.
LeRoy still doesn't move to take the letter from her.
"Please don't fight this, Daddy," she says, and she sounds so tired. Because she is. She's exhausted from this place. "I don't want this to be whom we are to each other, and there is no way for our relationship to recover if I stay. We're a family that does shitty things, apparently, but maybe we can stop now."
His jaw clenches. "You aren't going to be the only doctor I lose," he says. "I'm just supposed to accept that?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because they're not your kind of doctors, anyway."
"And what kind of doctor is that?"
"The kind that actually tries."
LeRoy's gaze snaps up, and Rachel can only imagine what must be going through Quinn's mind, squirrelled away in Rachel's pocket, hearing all of this. "She told you."
"She's my wife. Of course she told me."
"That girl should never have - "
"Beth," Rachel interrupts. "That girl's name is Beth."
His mouth opens and closes, and then opens again. "There is no way she should have survived," LeRoy says, and there's something in his voice she's never heard before. Not quite wonder, but something else. Maybe envy. "That tumour should have killed her."
"It didn't."
"No, it didn't," he breathes. "Do you know what Quinn told me? After." His gaze drifts to the left, taking him somewhere else for a moment. Into some memory. "She said, 'I would have burned this place to the ground if you'd let her die,' and I believed her."
"Why would you hire her, then?" Rachel asks, because she's truly curious to know. Why would he bring her right back here?
"I didn't remember her," he reveals, which just confirms Quinn's assumptions. His shoulders slump minutely. "Beth wasn't meant to survive," he says. "I knew it. We all knew it. I would have just caused her more pain if I'd - " he stops, looks a little helpless. "There was no chance."
"Well, you were obviously wrong," she says, her tone heavy. Beth survived, somehow, and it's not the first time Rachel wonders why it is Quinn has never explained exactly how that happened.
LeRoy looks at her. "I suppose I was," he agrees, and then takes the envelope from her. "That's it, huh? Nothing I can say or do to keep you here?"
"I think you've done more than enough," she states.
"Can you blame me?" he asks, and the answer is simple.
Yes.
Rachel definitely can.
She also doesn't think she has it in her to be gracious with her father in this moment. Not yet. Not when things are constantly being revealed and the revelations are still fresh. She has a right to her anger. He basically derailed her entire life and ambitions to achieve something through her.
Some legacy.
Some joint-Berry dynasty.
Well.
She almost wants to hold onto her news about now being a Fabray. It feels disingenuous to her wife and her marriage to use it to spite her father. Changing her name is a decision she's made separate from how it would affect her father, even if it was initially prompted by him.
"I'll approve your resignation," LeRoy finally says, and then raises his eyebrows. "Or would you rather I fire you?"
In another life, she might have enjoyed the joke, but it feels too out of place. Too soon.
He must read it in her expression because he sighs heavily. "You're dismissed, Dr Berry."
"Actually," she says, and she closes her eyes for a moment, because this feels significant; "It's Dr Fabray."
It's indescribable, just what happens to his face, and all she thinks is that it's a shame Quinn doesn't actually get to see it. Jaw dropping, eyes widening and face ashen. His expression, though priceless, acts as a confirmation of something.
She's not entirely sure what, but she didn't regret her decision, and she's definitely not going to start now.
"Rachel," he says, and his voice. God, his voice. "Why would you - you can't."
She gets to her feet. "You changed yours," she reminds him.
"My family didn't want me," he tells her. "I found my own."
It would be a shitty thing to do, but all she wants to say is, and I've found my own, too.
Again, it doesn't need to be said aloud, because he must read it all over her face. "Oh."
"Until recently, a lot of things have been chosen for me," she says, and there's a lot more behind those words when it comes to the two of them. "The one thing I've chosen for myself is my wife."
It feels good to say the words; to put them in the Universe and have them be true.
LeRoy has nothing to say in response to that, so Rachel takes it as a sign to leave. She turns, walks towards the door, but stops when he says her name, hand frozen on the door handle.
"If you leave, you know you can't come back here," he says.
He doesn't know, of course, that her stake in the Henry Garcia Memorial Hospital for Children is equal to Quinn's, even if the blonde has established herself as the face of the hospital's partnership with the Spencer Foundation. He can't know that her career and life is squared away somewhere else, offering her endless security barring a catastrophe.
"I know," she says, and then she walks out. Her steps are slow, steady, and she gets a few metres away before she's reaching into her pocket for her phone and lifting it to her ear. "Quinn, are you there?"
"I'm here," Quinn immediately responds. "That - yeah, that didn't sound like it went to plan. Are you okay?"
She doesn't think she's lying when she says, "Yeah, I think I'm okay."
"Okay."
"Thank you."
"I didn't even do anything."
That's where she's wrong, of course, because she's done so much. So much she won't ever even know. "I'll see you at home?"
"I'll even pick up those kebab things you're so fond of on my way," she says, and Rachel is reminded all over again that she's made all the right choices when it comes to Quinn Fabray.
Quinn manages to beat her home, already setting up their dinner at the kitchen table. It smells good, and Rachel would definitely be paying more attention to the grumbling of her own stomach if all Quinn was wearing wasn't just an apron.
Just an apron.
She's completely naked beneath it, and Rachel stands and watches her move around their space with ease. She's beautiful and perfect and she's hers.
"Quinn," she says, and Quinn spins around, already grinning. "What are you wearing?"
Quinn's grin is so much forced innocence. "I should just tell you that if these kebabs weren't so fucking spicy, I might have even let you eat them off my body."
Rachel laughs, a little uncontrollably, because how is this her life that she gets to come home to this incredible woman?
Quinn looks bemused but pleased. And then alarmed when Rachel's laughter turns into tears. They catch them both off guard, and then Quinn is crossing the space between them.
"Rachel," Quinn says, hands reaching out. "I mean, if you want to do it that badly, I'm sure my nipples will survive the paprika."
And now she's crying and laughing, and she must look quite the sight. She steps into Quinn's space and buries her face in her pale neck, wrapping arms around her waist.
"Please tell me you're actually okay," Quinn murmurs. "You said you were okay."
"I am," she says, because she is. That's the part that's caught her so off guard. She knows she still has difficult conversations to have. With LeRoy, at some point, but with Hiram, too. And Shelby.
Quinn kisses her hair, and Rachel's hands slide along her bare back. "You're okay," Quinn says, her left hand smoothing over Rachel's hair. "You're okay."
"Because I have you?"
Quinn hums, and then says, "Because I have you."
Rachel pulls back to be able to look at her face. "You got me kebabs," she says. "And you're naked."
"I'm basically the perfect wife, aren't I?"
Rachel's kisses her grin, unable to resist. "You already anticipated I'd be hungry and horny, huh?"
Quinn laughs, head tilting back and revealing her unfairly gorgeous neck. "And not necessarily in that order," she mocks quietly.
Rachel kisses her neck, and then sinks her teeth into her skin, enjoying the way Quinn shudders in her arms. "I can have my wife and my dinner, and eat them both, too."
"Oh, my God."
Rachel smiles with mischief, hands sliding downwards. She has all these dirty things she wants to say and do, but she rather just says, "Thank you," with all the sincerity she feels.
Quinn's smile softens. "I never want you to regret your choices," she whispers.
Rachel shakes her head, because Quinn is really just so silly. As if she could have any regrets about where they've managed to end up. "I love you," she says, saving that conversation for another day.
Now, though, she kisses Quinn sweetly, and then lets her take her to bed.
The kebabs come along, too.
