Part III: The Poem Of My Life
The wedding is a disaster.
Rachel huffs and crosses her arms on the table at which she's currently sitting (alone!), glaring out at the reception that's going on around her even though the wedding didn't. She still can't believe that Ms. Pillsbury left Mr. Schuester at the altar. Granted, weddings are horribly stressful events—Rachel knows from experience. Even thinking of her own aborted wedding makes her stomach churn with nausea. Her eyes automatically seek out Quinn—a visual reassurance that she's here and healthy and whole—but Quinn is currently at the bar, having a drink with Santana. Rachel scowls, clenching her hands into fists at the sight of them being all…all…flirty! It doesn't matter that she knows it's all just a coping mechanism for Santana's heartache over Brittany and Quinn's frustration with Rachel—she still wants to claw Santana's eyes out.
Her perfect morning with Quinn had quickly devolved after Finn's text messages, and by the time they'd finally left for the church, Quinn's annoyance with the veiled state of their relationship was palpable. Kurt and Santana had immediately noticed the tension between them, but while Kurt had flashed Rachel a sympathetic smile, Santana had crossed her arms and scowled at her for not being able to fix things with Quinn. It didn't help that as soon as they'd parked the car and gotten out, a panicked Finn had been right there to pull Rachel aside and ramble about not knowing what song to sing for the best man speech, leaving a clearly irritated Quinn to drag Santana into the church and stake out a seat near the back without any regard to saving a place for Rachel.
Kurt had wandered off with Blaine somewhere, and Rachel had been forced to talk Finn down on her own before sitting in the front of the church where she couldn't even see Quinn without twisting her body around and craning her neck—which she had done several times. Then Ms. Sylvester had shown up in a wedding dress and gleefully informed Mr. Schue that his bride had taken a powder. Now Rachel is stuck alone at the reception, watching Santana drown her Brittany sorrows while Quinn plays the role of supportive friend.
She shouldn't be upset. This is what she wanted, after all—for the two of them to project the appearance that nothing has changed while they attend the wedding. Except the wedding never happened, and Rachel is screwing up her relationship with Quinn for nothing. No, she's screwing up her relationship because she's afraid of what people will think—people who don't really have any influence over her new life in New York. She really is an idiot.
She pulls her gaze away from Quinn and surveys the room again, noticing Finn sitting alone and staring dejectedly at the stage where Blaine and Kurt are singing a duet. He looks so sad and ridden with guilt, and she can't help empathizing with him. She knows that he feels responsible for what happened today, but Rachel has a feeling that there must have been more going on with Ms. Pillsbury than a single, unexpected kiss with Finn. She casts a furtive glance in Quinn's direction before she pushes up from the table and makes her way over to Finn, carefully settling into the chair next to him.
"You know what happened today isn't your fault, right?¹" she says gently.
"How would you know?¹" he mutters with downcast eyes.
"I've seen every runaway bride movie that there is, and I know that when the bride runs away, it's never because of a random kiss. It's because she knows deep down inside that it isn't right,¹" she reassures him with a soft smile. She briefly considers how true that was in regards to their own ill-fated wedding. Rachel can admit now that her reluctance to go ahead with the ceremony until Quinn arrived had been more a result of her own misgivings than a desperate need to have Quinn there—although that had certainly been a factor. The truth is, had she really been ready to marry Finn that day, she would have.
Finn doesn't look entirely convinced. "Come on," she urges, giving a friendly push to his arm, "stop moping over here and try to have a little fun with your friends."
"You're one to talk. You've been avoiding everyone, too."
"Not by choice," Rachel mumbles.
Finn smiles that crooked smile that Rachel used to find so charming once upon a time. "Hey, you wanna dance?" he asks with a flicker of hope in his eyes for the first time today. Rachel hates to have to snuff that out, but she really doesn't think it would be a good idea to dance with him.
Her eyes dart around the room as she struggles to think up a viable excuse, settling for, "I'm sorry, my dance instructor at NYADA strongly discourages any non-sanctioned dancing on the grounds that it could hinder my training," and Finn's face twists in confused disappointment. "But look, Mike and Mercedes are over there." She points across the room where their friends are laughing and enjoying themselves. "Why don't we go over and catch up? I haven't talked to them in months."
"Uh, okay, I guess," Finn says with a small frown. Rachel flashes a smile—she hopes he doesn't realize that it's one of her show smiles—and slaps her palms against her thighs before she stands. She makes a beeline for Mike and Mercedes without looking back to make sure Finn is following her. She really would like to find out what they've been up to. She'd only talked to Mercedes for a few minutes before the ceremony-that-wasn't, and she hasn't had a chance to talk to Mike at all since—wow, since they'd graduated! She really has been off in her own little world in New York.
Fifteen minutes isn't really enough time to make up for months of silence, but it is enough time for Finn and Mike to get involved in a discussion about college basketball that Rachel couldn't care less about. She quietly excuses herself when Unique comes over to talk to Mercedes, and she heads for the bar where Quinn and Santana are still engaged in underage drinking. Quinn and alcohol tend to have unpredictable results—although she supposes her own track record certainly isn't above reproach.
Rachel glides up to the bar in time to hear Santana ask the bartender to, "Hit me with a Mojito, hermosa, and then you can hit me with your phone number." The bartender—a very pretty brunette—rolls her eyes and turns away to mix Santana's drink, muttering something about overeager Don Juanitas. Santana either doesn't hear her, or isn't at all discouraged by it, because she unabashedly ogles the woman's backside encased in formfitting black tuxedo pants.
Quinn grins around the edge of her wineglass and rolls her eyes. "I'm amazed that women aren't just throwing their phone numbers at you with lines like that."
"Bitch, you wish you had half my swag. Instead, you're stuck with half a woman."
"Hey!" Rachel growls, pulling their attention to her—well, Quinn's attention. Santana only gives her a judgmental once over before returning her admiring gaze to the bartender.
"Shouldn't you be off somewhere rebuilding Finn's self-esteem?" Quinn asks coolly.
Rachel bristles at the tone and crosses her arms. "You know what, that's," she begins irritably, stopping herself before she says something that she'll regret. "Fine. Yes, I did offer a few friendly words of support," she concedes, "but please remember that you're the one who walked away and left me alone with him at the church."
"It was either that or claim you as mine right there in the parking lot," she explains lowly, careful to keep her voice down. "I chose the less dramatic option."
"Good thing, too," Santana chimes in, swirling her freshly made Mojita around in her glass. "Nobody wants to see you two get your freak on."
Rachel ignores her, taking a half-step closer to Quinn. "Can we please find somewhere private to talk?"
Even as she asks, Sue Sylvester's voice booms out through the speakers, calling for all the pathetic, single women to gather around for the tossing of the bouquet. Quinn shakes her head, sets her glass down on the bar, and smiles ruefully. "Later, Rachel. I don't want to miss my chance at that bouquet. After all, as far as anyone knows, I'm a pathetic, single woman, aren't I?"
"Quinn, no," Rachel whimpers, reaching for her arm, but Quinn shrugs off her touch and grabs Santana's hand instead. Santana barely has time to put her drink down before she's being dragged away from the bar and to the front of the small crowd that's gathering.
Rachel wants to cry as she watches them laugh together, stumbling into one another as they jockey for the best position. It feels a little like high school all over again, in those days when she'd hovered on the outskirts, watching the popular girls smile and laugh and have fun together—only now one of those girls is the woman that she's in love with, and this feeling is the same one she'd had watching Finn be with Quinn when all Rachel had wanted was to be the one standing next to him. Now she wants to be the one standing next to Quinn.
She's starting to really hate weddings and everything that they entail—especially February weddings. There's absolutely no reason that she and Quinn should be fighting right now other than the fact that they're both chronically and malignantly stubborn. Rachel sets her jaw and squares her shoulders, marching over to the group of single ladies and hovering in the back as she waits for the stupid bouquet toss to be over so she can corner her girlfriend and drag her somewhere private.
Sue launches the bouquet into the air like a missal, sending it sailing over the heads of everyone in front of Rachel. Holding out her hands to catch it is hardly more than a reflex, but suddenly she's holding it in her hands. She laughs a little at the irony—she'd almost been a bride last year, and this year, getting married anytime in the near future is the last thing on her mind. Although, theoretically, she and Quinn can get married in New York anytime they'd like, but it's far too soon to be thinking about things like that yet.
Rachel lifts her gaze and seeks out Quinn, who's staring back at her with faint smile. Quinn turns and says something to Santana before she walks away, but instead of coming back toward the bar, she skirts around the couples beginning to fill the dance floor and away from the party. Rachel furrows her brow and bounces on her toes, trying to track where Quinn is going until she catches sight of her graceful form on the staircase leading up to the mezzanine. Rachel's feet immediately move in that direction.
She sidesteps Noah and his barely-old-enough-to-consent, blonde Cheerio (who she's been told has some weird, girl crush on Quinn and is therefore on Rachel's list of undesirable additions to New Directions) and brushes past Tina without a word. When she crests the top step, she pauses, glancing around at the empty landing before she notices the bathroom. Taking an educated guess, she pushes open the door and steps inside.
The interior is pristine—clean and nicely appointed with large mirrors, a marble counter with built-in sinks, and linen towels. Quinn strikes a familiar pose in front of the mirror, touching up her eyeliner. "Some things never change," Rachel murmurs with a half-smile as she lovingly traces Quinn's profile with her eyes.
Quinn drops her hand, laying down the liner pencil on the counter with a soft click before turning and arching an eyebrow. "Like you following me into bathrooms."
Rachel sighs and sets the bouquet down on the counter. "In some ways, I suppose I've always been chasing after you." She takes a step closer, biting her lip and gliding her fingers along the counter as she holds Quinn's gaze. "I'll never stop, Quinn…even if I stumble over every other step. You're too important to me."
"You have been stumbling a lot," Quinn point outs dryly, resting her own hand on the countertop. Her long fingers are steepled less than an inch away from Rachel's hand, and Rachel can't resist edging her own fingers closer until the pads ghost over Quinn's perfect, red fingernails. Quinn's eyes drop down to focus on the subtle motion.
"I wish I could assure you that I've found my footing, but I'm not sure I ever will with you." Quinn presses her lips together and pulls her hand back just enough to break contact, but Rachel is quick to stop her from retreating behind her familiar walls. "And that's not a bad thing, Quinn. Yes, you frustrate me at times, but you also challenge me and force me to think about things from a different perspective." She cups her hand over Quinn's and takes another half-step forward. "It's one of the many things that I love about you."
The tip of Quinn's tongue peaks out and runs along her lower lip before she asks, "What are the others?"
Rachel drags her gaze away from Quinn's mouth. "Others?" she repeats dumbly.
Quinn smirks, taking her own half-step forward until there's no personal space left between them. "The many things that you love about me," she prompts in a husky whisper.
Rachel sucks in a quick, little breath—she wonders if anyone who has dated Quinn has ever managed to resist her when she uses that voice. "I...you...you're Q-quinn," she stammers stupidly, internally cringing at her sudden loss of eloquence.
"I love your strength," she tries again, thinking of everything that Quinn has been through in her short life. "And your intelligence. I love that you devour books the way I do music," she says with growing confidence when she sees Quinn's smile transform from teasing to touched. "I love the way you dance, especially when you close you eyes and forget that anyone else is watching. I love your smile...all your smiles, really, but mostly the wide, joyous one that shows all your teeth." Quinn's cheeks tint as pink as the skirt of her dress as she tries and fails to suppress a smile that comes very close to the one that Rachel just described.
"I love your addiction to blazers," Rachel jokes, delighting in Quinn's giggle as she tugs at the multicolored, sequined jacket that Quinn chose to pair with her red and fuchsia dress—and really, Rachel sometimes wonders why Quinn's often mismatched outfits are considered fashionable while her own were always criticized.
"But I really love what's under them," she murmurs, sliding her hand under the jacket and across Quinn's breast in a feather-light caress before pressing her open palm over Quinn's heart. Rachel feels Quinn's breathing hitch as much as she hears it and sees it. "I love everything about you," she whispers against Quinn's lips.
"Good answer," Quinn purrs before claiming Rachel's mouth in a sensual kiss.
The last of the tension between them melts and reforms into another kind of tension entirely. Quinn's arms slip around Rachel's waist, and her hands dip low to mold Rachel's ass. Rachel moves her own hand from where it rests over Quinn's thrumming heart to cup her breast. Someone moans, but Rachel can't be sure if it was Quinn or her or both of them together—she only knows that she loves the way their bodies fit together. Every one of her curves matches to one of Quinn's, and Quinn's curves are so very nice—soft and yielding to her touch.
Her body hums with the arousal that's been fed and stifled too many times over the last two days, and she breaks their kiss with a ragged gasp, only to push at the edges of Quinn's jacket until she can bring her mouth down to nip and suckle the creamy skin at the base of Quinn's throat. Quinn groans and curls her fingers into Rachel's ass, sending a spike of pleasure through her and causing her hips to jerk forward.
Quinn staggers back slightly until she's leaning more securely against the counter. Her legs fall open just enough for Rachel's thigh to slip between them. Her skirt hikes up just a little, and Quinn's fingers help it along by steadily bunching the material as well as she can in order to seek out skin. Rachel can feel those elegant fingers running greedily along the edge of her panties, and she whimpers, scraping her teeth over Quinn's clavicle before soothing the flesh with her tongue.
She pushes that damnable jacket back further and dips her head to kiss the upper swell of Quinn's breast, pulling a breathy moan from her. Fingers tangle into her hair and scratch at her scalp, and Rachel presses forward, savoring the taste of Quinn's skin on her tongue as her hands wander over the silk of Quinn's dress.
"M-maybe we…oh…oh, Rachel," Quinn moans, grinding down against Rachel's thigh in response to the pull of Rachel's mouth against her skin and the thumb currently flicking back and forth across her peaked nipple. Her hips continue to rock as her hands wildly grasp at Rachel's ass and thighs. Rachel is so turned on right now—she never imagined how incredibly arousing it would be to feel Quinn surrender to her—so she's understandably slow to respond when Quinn whimpers and breathlessly manages to pant out, "M-maybe...we...we shouldn't be d-doing this in here."
The logical part of Rachel agrees, but she's so tired of being logical—logic has done nothing but ruin her first Valentine's Day with Quinn. She just wants to slip her hands underneath Quinn's dress and explore more of her soft skin and enticing curves, but she concedes that maybe the ladies' room isn't exactly the right place for that. She reluctantly detaches her mouth from Quinn with a mild pout and leans back just far enough to meet dilated, hazel eyes. The unconcealed passion that greets her steals what's left of her breath. She loves seeing Quinn this way—stripped bare of the mask that she's perfected for so long and carried away by her own emotions.
"You're right. We shouldn't," Rachel agrees with a terse nod. "As much as I really want to keep debauching you right now, a bathroom is hardly the most romantic place for all the things I want to do to you."
Quinn groans and closes her eyes, running her tongue over her lips again, and Rachel barely resists the urge to lean back in and pick up where they left off. "I don't suppose you'd reconsider getting that hotel room?" Quinn murmurs.
She actually would. Her body is screaming at her for denying it the release it craves—again. "We should probably say our goodbyes first."
Quinn's eyes pop open, dark and sparking with desire. "Don't tease me, Rachel."
Rachel grins, carefully untangling herself from Quinn and tugging her dress back down. "I think we've both done enough of that. It's well past time for a little pleasing."
Quinn pushes away from the counter and loops her arms around Rachel again, threading one hand into her hair. "Oh, there will be a lot of pleasing," she promises in a timbre that resonates through Rachel's body and causes a few very pleasant tremors in her core. The kiss she places on Rachel's lips is slow and sensual.
When they part, Rachel drags in a steadying breath and lifts her hand to run her thumb under Quinn lower lip. "You might need a little touch up before we go back out there."
Quinn smirks, gently raking her fingers through Rachel's hair. "You definitely do. I can certainly see what Santana meant about using the same shade of lipstick."
Rachel giggles. "Maybe it would be easier if you just stopped wearing it altogether."
"Maybe I like the way it looks on you," she counters, dipping her head to brush another kiss across Rachel's lips.
Quinn sighs and releases her, turning around to face the mirror. Rachel echoes her actions, reaching for a towel to dab at her lips before catching sight of the wild state of her hair. After she removes the evidence of Quinn's kisses, she does her best to finger comb her hair back into submission and silently curses the fact that she'd left her purse stashed under the seat in the rental car. "I'm certainly glad I opted not to straighten my hair today, since you've managed to give me sex hair without actually having sex."
Quinn chuckles as she reapplies her lipstick. "Just wait until later," she warns playfully, meeting Rachel's eyes in the mirror with a sultry smile before returning her attention to repairing her makeup.
Rachel watches her with hungry eyes, giving up on her hair and admiring Quinn instead. She's witnessed this mundane ritual countless times in the years that she's known her. It used to inspire a sort of envious melancholy—Rachel wondering what it would be like to be as flawless as Quinn Fabray—but now it's almost like enjoying her favorite musical, —comforting, but so beloved that she can watch it forever and always find a new detail to enjoy.
Quinn pauses her ministrations and leans closer to the mirror with a frown. She brushes her hair back off her shoulder and tugs her jacket to the side with narrowed eyes. "You know, for someone trying to keep our relationship quiet, you certainly do like to mark me."
Rachel drops her gaze to the line of dark red blotches that mar Quinn's perfect, pale skin from her throat to her right breast, and she blushes a little at her handiwork, but she isn't about to apologize. "You could always say you burned yourself with the curling iron," she suggests, biting back an amused grin.
"Funny," Quinn deadpans with an arched brow, "but I obviously didn't curl my hair today."
Rachel shrugs one shoulder. "Just keep your jacket closed," she turns and lightly fingers the material as she leans in and places her lips close to Quinn's ear, "until I can strip it off of you later."
Quinn turns her head, intent on kissing Rachel again, but Rachel ducks away. "Don't you dare start that again, Quinn Fabray! I just made myself presentable."
"Excuse me?" Quinn grumbles with a pout. "Who started?"
Rachel grins cheekily and picks up the bouquet before placing a soft, barely-there kiss to the corner of Quinn's mouth to soothe her. "I'll meet you in fifteen minutes at the front desk," she promises, running her hand over her dress one final time to smooth the wrinkles before she pushes open the bathroom door and walks out.
"That's weird," rumbles from behind her almost immediately, and she nearly jumps out of her skin in surprise. She stops and turns to see Finn leaning casually against the wall, obviously waiting for her, and she experiences a moment of panic that he knows exactly what just happened in the bathroom, but then he says, "Traditionally, only single girls line up to catch the bouquet," and Rachel lets out a relieved breath. Finn pushes off the wall and closes the distance between them, reaching out to pick one of the daisies from the arrangement that she's clutching and pulling a single petal free from the bud. "She loves me.¹"
"I am single,¹" she lies—well, kind of, because even though she's in a relationship, technically she is an unmarried woman, and therefore as eligible to catch the bouquet as Quinn had been. Rachel glances behind Finn at the closed bathroom door, half-hoping that Quinn will stay in there for a while longer and half-hoping that she'll come out right now so that Rachel can avoid this conversation.
"You're seeing that guy," Finn accuses, walking over to the railing and pulling at a second petal. "She loves me not.¹"
"Have you been drinking?¹" she asks suspiciously, putting her hand on the rail. She once again chooses not to correct Finn's misinformation.
"You know, you were the one who told me to stop moping around and being such a sad sack," he says, pacing in front of her. He picks another petal, murmuring, "She loves me. And it got me thinking about Will and Emma. About how relationships are a lot like flowers." He lifts the poor, abused daisy between his fingers as he moves closer to her. "If you find the right seed, put it in good soil, give it water and sunlight… Bam!" he exclaims, twirling the flower. "Perfect bud. She loves me not," he says as he tugs another petal free.
"And then comes winter, and the flower dies, but if you tend that garden, spring will come along, and that flower will bloom again. She loves me.¹" Another poor petal flutters to the ground in ironic opposition of Finn's words.
"Are you telling me that you want to be a gardener?¹" Rachel jokes with a semi-amused smile playing on her lips. She's not really affected by Finn's speech, but she is a little impressed at his use of the extended metaphor—perhaps he actually had been paying attention to her all those times that she'd attempted to explain it to him.
"I'm asking you how you can be in a relationship with a guy and still be single? She loves me not.¹"
Rachel huffs out a breath. "Because I'm not married, nor am I engaged," she reminds him sharply. "And in fact, my relationship with Brody was never strictly exclusive anyway," she evades. "I mean, it's New York. I'm in college. This is my chance to," she stops herself before she says experiment, mindful that Quinn is still inside that bathroom and that word has gotten Rachel into trouble before, "break free from those narrow restrictions that I'd placed on myself and embrace new experiences," she says instead.
Finn smirks, plucking another petal. "She loves me. So do you really believe that stuff you tell yourself?" he wants to know, still playing his game with the flower. "She loves me not.¹"
"You think I'm lying to you?¹" she accuses, irritation seeping into her voice despite the fact that she is actually lying to him.
"I think you're lying to yourself," he answers without hesitation, destroying another petal. "She loves me. And I think the reason you can't really commit is because you're still in love with someone else," he tells her with a smug grin. "She loves me not.¹"
Rachel stifles the laugh that wants to bubble up from her throat. Finn is more right than he can even know. She is in love with someone else, and it certainly isn't, "You?¹"
"You and I both know how this thing ends," he tells her, shaking his head a little as he moistens his lips, and Rachel has a weird moment of déjà vu, because the bold statement is so very close to something Quinn told her once upon a time with a piano beside them and Finn symbolically between them. "I don't know how or when, and I don't care where you're living or what dope you're shacked up with. You're my girlfriend. We are endgame. I know that, and you know that,¹" he vows, leaning in closer with the clear intention of kissing her.
"You know, five months ago, I probably would have swooned at what you just said," Rachel says flatly, causing Finn to stop in confusion, "despite the fact that it's extremely presumptuous and frankly, kind of stalkerish," she mutters with a concerned frown. "But life isn't some fairytale or romantic comedy that we can know the ending to before we've even lived through all the experiences in the middle."
Finn opens his mouth to protest, but Rachel raises a hand to stop him, ruefully admitting, "I know that I used to think it was. I was the misunderstood, yet talented, young ingénue, and you were the cute, sweet popular guy who saw past all of the shallow trappings, and we were meant to have this dramatic, epic love story where we fought against every obstacle to be together until we could have our happy ending." She smiles sadly as she gazes at Finn's hopeful face. "But my story has changed, Finn. The life I'm living now has a different ending, and yours does too," she tells him gently. "We're not even starring in the same genre anymore," she muses, thinking that the movie of her life is now going to be categorized under alternative lifestyles.
Finn stubbornly shakes his head. "Look, I know that's your fancy way of trying to deny what we have…"
"Had, Finn," she corrects.
"But you can't know that we won't find our way back to one another anymore than you claim I can't know that we will." He reaches out and brushes his fingers over her biceps. "It's all about having faith in us."
Rachel shakes her head. "No, it's about refusing to let go of something because the future is scary and uncertain. You're still holding on to the past, but I'm not, Finn." She reaches up and covers his hand with her own, lifting it away from her arm before letting go. "You're right…I don't know what will happen or how my story ends, but I know that I don't see you in it anymore."
"Then you're not looking," he insists.
"And you're not listening," Quinn growls from behind him, arresting his attention for a moment.
Rachel flinches—she hadn't even noticed Quinn exit the bathroom, and she doesn't know how long she's been standing there watching their exchange, but she can tell from the look on Quinn's face that she's not happy at all.
"Can you maybe give us some privacy?" Finn asks impatiently.
"Oh, I think you've had more than enough time alone with Rachel," she says snidely, coming to stand protectively next to her.
"Quinn, please," Rachel begs softly, still hoping to avoid a big, dramatic scene, "let me handle this."
Quinn glares at her, crossing her arms defensively, but mutters an annoyed, "Fine."
Rachel offers her a grateful smile, and turns back to Finn with renewed determination, though he's still staring at Quinn with a confused frown. "Look, I care about you, Finn," she says, pulling his gaze back to her. "I do. You were my first love, and my first time, and a part of me is always going to love you for that reason," she admits, forcing herself to ignore the way Quinn tenses at her side, "but I'm not in love with you anymore. I'd like us to find a way to be friends again, but you have to let go of this idea that we're destined to be together…because we're not."
"Even if you're lucky enough to meet your soulmate, it doesn't guarantee that you'll be in love forever and have some storybook happy ending," she nervously glances at Quinn, who's looking back at her with an unreadable expression. Rachel flashes her what she hopes is a reassuring smile before she meets Finn's clouded eyes again. "You have to work for it every single day. And, Finn, you and I…we just don't work."
"But we can if we try again," Finn argues.
"You're not trying anything again," Quinn snaps. "Rachel has made it pretty clear that she doesn't want to be with you anymore. Why don't you try respecting that?"
Finn shoves a frustrated hand through his hair. "Why are you even here? This has nothing to do with you," he shouts.
Rachel winces at his show of temper, and she hears the tiny wisp of surprise as Quinn inhales quickly through her nose. She instinctively reaches out to touch Quinn's arm, and she can feel the muscles jump under her fingers. She sees the tightness of Quinn's jaw and the hurt glistening in her eyes, and it's suddenly all too much for Rachel. She can't keep doing this to Quinn.
"It does," Rachel says, still staring at Quinn's profile—and then she's looking directly into stunned, hazel eyes. "It has everything to do with Quinn." She reaches for Quinn's hand, prying it away from its fisted position against her body. Quinn grabs onto her immediately, and Rachel smiles, twining their fingers together before she looks back at Finn with confidence. "I'm in love with her."
He stares at them with a furrowed brow and open mouth. Rachel has seen this look several dozen times in the past, and she wonders how long it will take him to fully comprehend what she's just told him. She hates having to do it this way. She hates having to do it at all, really, but she was at least hoping that Finn would have actually moved on from her before she had to break the news that she's most definitely moving on with Quinn. She'd wanted to keep this day as drama free as possible, but that's pretty pointless now that Ms. Pillsbury has bailed on her wedding, and Finn got it in his mind to try to plant some weird, love garden with her.
She knows the moment the revelation sinks in, because his eyes flash with disbelief, and he barks out a short, dismissive laugh. "Yeah, right," he scoffs, and Quinn's fingers tighten around hers almost painfully. "Look, Rach, I understand that you think you want me to give up on us right now, but pretending to be suddenly gay with Quinn, of all people, isn't even remotely believable."
"I'm not gay," Rachel insists tiredly—she's been saying that a lot lately, "but I am in love with Quinn, and we're very much together."
"Very much together," Quinn repeats smugly, letting go of Rachel's hand so that she can slip an arm snugly around her waist instead. Rachel melts into her side without reservation.
"Okay, you're kind of taking the joke a little too far now," Finn angrily accuses.
"It's not a joke," Quinn vehemently defends. "If you'd get over yourself for one damn minute you'd realize that Rachel has been trying to tell you for the last ten minutes that she doesn't love you anymore." She reaches out and snags the last petal from the decimated flower still grasped between Finn's fingers. "She loves me."
Finn drops his hand, glaring at Quinn before he turns to Rachel with a scowl. "But you're with that Brody guy."
Rachel drops her gaze guiltily. "We did date for a little while, mostly because I was in denial about my feelings for Quinn, but that's over." She meets his eyes unflinchingly. "It was just easier to let you think that I was upset over Brody last fall than…than to admit that I was upset over what was happening with Quinn."
Quinn gives her a reassuring squeeze, smiling down at her. "And it was easier for me to tell everyone at Thanksgiving that I hadn't visited Rachel in New York than to deal with any questions about what happened between us when I did," she confesses softly.
Finn's eyes dart back and forth between them, and he shakes his head again. "I don't believe you."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Well, then, maybe you'll believe this," she reaches up and brushes back her hair before she tugs her jacket aside, proudly showing off the hickeys that Rachel had left on her. "We just spent fifteen minutes fooling around in the bathroom. Not to mention the romantic morning we had together before we were so rudely interrupted by your two phone calls and four text messages."
Rachel can feel her face heat. "Quinn, is that really necessary?"
Quinn shrugs, but it's Finn who answers, "No. No, this isn't…I don't accept this. She's lying. Tell me she's lying, Rachel," he pleads.
Rachel's heart aches for him, but it's a dull, wistful throb that makes no demands for immediate attention. "I'm so sorry, Finn," she whispers.
He slams his hand against the railing, startling Rachel and making her flinch. Quinn shifts protectively next to her as Finn spins sideways and paces away from them. "This is bullshit!" he yells, turning around to glare at them and pointing an accusatory finger at Quinn. "She's playing you for some insane," he throws up both hands in agitation, "Quinn reason."
Quinn's body goes rigid against Rachel. "You're so wrong," she bites out. "I'm sorry if this hurts you, Finn, but even after all this time, you really don't know me at all, and you know nothing about my feelings for Rachel. I'm in love with her."
Outwardly, she's projecting remarkable calm, but now that Rachel has learned to pay attention to Quinn's tells, she can hear the slight tremor in her voice, see the emotion churning in her eyes, and feel the nearly imperceptible quiver in her muscles. Finn's accusation wounded her, and knowing that Quinn is hurting makes Rachel's heart ache so severely that it feels as though it's going to bleed right out of her chest and leave an empty, gaping hole. She rubs a supportive hand over Quinn's back, under her jacket. "If you really care about me," Rachel tells Finn gently, "you need to respect my relationship with Quinn."
Quinn sighs, sagging against Rachel and looking down at her with sparkling eyes. Finn scoffs, ignoring Quinn's words and leveling his intense gaze on Rachel. "She's gonna break your heart," he warns her harshly before his voice softens. "And when she does, I'll be here waiting."
"Please don't wait for me, Finn," Rachel begs sadly. "I'm happy with Quinn."
Finn shakes his head stubbornly, looking back and forth between them before he huffs out a frustrated breath and takes a step toward the staircase. He stops with one hand on the railing and one foot down on the second step, twisting sideways to take one last weighted look at her. "We're meant to be together, Rachel," he says with conviction, "and sooner or later, we'll find our way back to one another."
"Oh, my God," Quinn mutters under her breath as they watch Finn turn and disappear down the stairs. "It's like talking to a wall."
Rachel closes her eyes and turns into Quinn, tucking her chin onto a deceptively strong shoulder and hugging her fiercely. "I love you," she whispers. "I'm so sorry Finn said those things to upset you."
Quinn hugs her back, burying her nose into Rachel's hair and inhaling deeply. "I'm used to it," she mutters before pulling away to gaze down into Rachel's eyes in concern. Her hand leaves Rachel's back to gently brush back a strand of dark hair. "I'm more worried about you."
Rachel heaves a sigh and shakes her head dejectedly. "I'm fine. I just really wish that Finn would realize that it's time to let go of the past and move on. It makes me sad to think that he's waiting for something that isn't going to happen."
Quinn's lips curve, and she begins to sway a little in time with the music filtering up from the reception. "Why did you tell him anyway? I thought you wanted to avoid the drama and keep this to ourselves for a while longer."
"I did, but not at the expense of your feelings, Quinn. I told you that I'm not ashamed of you, but my actions were sending a different message, and I don't want that to happen with us. I want to love you the way you deserve to be loved," she says, following the motion of Quinn's body as they fall into a slow dance.
She's still a little wary of sharing their relationship with everyone so soon—maybe it's because she and Quinn have always had these incredibly intimate moments when they're alone, even before they were friends, and she's always been hesitant to share them with anyone—but she doesn't want to be afraid anymore. And she doesn't want her fear to keep causing Quinn unnecessary pain. She feels lighter now that Finn knows about them, and she wants to enjoy the rest of this weekend the way she should have been doing from the beginning—with her girlfriend.
Quinn dips her head, brushing her lips over Rachel's in a tender kiss. "This is a really good start," Quinn whispers happily as they continue to dance together.
"Do you want to go back down to the reception together?" Rachel questions softly, taking a nervous breath. "As my date?"
"I'd rather get that room," Quinn drawls, "but I suppose we should at least let Santana and Kurt know that they shouldn't wait for us."
Rachel tightens her hold on Quinn's waist and leans in to kiss her softly before saying, "Let's go." Quinn lets Rachel slip out of her arms and takes a step toward the stairs, but Rachel catches her hand and firmly entwines their fingers. Quinn smiles that smile—the one that Rachel wants to see for the rest of her life—and all of Rachel's lingering concerns fade right out of her mind. They walk down the stairs together, and in that moment, with Quinn beside her, Rachel couldn't care less who sees them.
¹Glee 4x14, "I Do"
