AN: Happy to see that support for this fic still continues! And as such, so will I. C: Thanks to everyone! This chapter is dedicated to dgronison and shiney1983 for their particularly lovely reviews.
Reviewer Responses: I'm purposely not answering/avoiding the question about Rachel's pregnancy…or lack-thereof. It will eventually be addressed in this ficlet. I know. I'm evil.
Please remember! Barely watch any Glee, so consider the apartment itself (scenery, the rooms, the building, etc.) AU as well. Also, not sure if Rachel's supposed to be 19 or 20, so she's 19 for the purposes of this fic.
I apologize for all grievous comma splices, typos and other grammar atrocities, I do not have a beta person. :/
Rachel had to refrain from sprinting out of her apartment. As it was, she was speed-walking, bordering on running. Oh, who was she actually kidding? With a flip of the bangs obscuring her vision, Rachel broke out into a run, feet moving nimbly as she opted to take the stairs. She flew down the steps and made it to the first floor in staggering time (thank her elliptical), before proceeding to slow down her pace to a more controlled, but awkward, jog. This was done just on the off chance any of her fellow residents saw her. It wasn't like she had completely stopped caring about appearances. After all, it was bad enough that what she was wearing looked like sex clothes. She shuddered to think of what they might say or do.
Shaking the upsetting thought out of her mind (she shouldn't care what they thought anyways, but that was easier said than done), she focused on her current objective – finding Quinn. She was almost at the building's door when it decided to slam open. Okay, so it was more like normally open, but since the door so rudely became acquainted with Rachel's face, she preferred the former adjective. At the very least, the former adjective allowed her a precious kumquat of dignity.
"Ow!" she squealed, clutching at her face as her butt landed neatly,albeit painfully, on the ground. Scratch that, kumquat of dignity now lost as well. "My nohz!" Rachel's hands were pressed against the painful part, giving her voice a nasally tint. Like she really needed any more help in sounding like more of a dork, Rachel inwardly moaned.
"Rachel?" Her name came from a noticeably confused but wonderfully familiar voice. When a person finally registered with the wonderfully familiar voice, Rachel immediately forgot about the pain and her hands dropped, suspended in the air as she looked at the blue sundress obscuring her vision in disbelief.
"Quinn!" she yelled happily, bolting upright and immediately bashing into said person's jaw with the force of a very small but powerful rottweiler.
The blonde yelped while Rachel looked like she had just run over her new puppy.
"Ohmygod Quinn," she let her hand waver in the air, torn between running to help and keeping herself away so she didn't cause more damage. "I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" she asked hurriedly.
Quinn had a hand on her chin, appraising Rachel. Then she burst out laughing. "I think this makes us even," she chuckled, motioning towards the shorter girl's nose.
Rachel smiled wryly, rubbing her nose as the pain slowly seeped back into her reality. "Well…I did sort of man-handle you back in the apartment…" The smile on Quinn's face almost imperceptibly faltered. "I really have to apologize for that," she added hastily. Unfortunately for Rachel, any sign of the chuckling Quinn Fabray had vanished. The smile had now lost its warmth, scaringly reminiscent of the previously cold, aloof and untouchable Quinn Fabray. Not that she wasn't currently untouchable…but Rachel was getting sidetracked.
"It's not a problem Rachel," she said coolly, her hand dropping from her jaw. "I understand." Rachel couldn't help but think that Quinn didn't understand; she didn't understand at all.
So Rachel opened her mouth to explain, she really did. But as she tried to gather the right words and force them out of her mouth…words that would tell her about the...thing…parasite, no…baby, growing inside of her, she faltered. The next thing she knew, there was a question falling from her lips.
"Where were you?" Rachel looked briefly taken aback by her own question, before she recovered and surveyed Quinn with a decent measure of scrutiny. She wasn't sure, but Rachel thought she saw a brief flicker of guilt pass across the beautiful girl's rigid features.
"I just…" Quinn sighed, running her fingers through her hair and staring up at the peeling ceiling. Rachel didn't like the fact that she broke eye contact. It probably meant that she was about to… "…needed some air." …lie.
Rachel tutted and shook her head. "This isn't Lima, Quinn." She frowned, trying to figure out what exactly was going on. "You don't go outside in New York City, past 7:30 at night I might add," Rachel gestured wildly, for emphasis. "Getting air," she huffed. "First of all, do you know exactly how much smog is in the city?"
Crossing her arms, she fixed Quinn with a glare the girl most definitely did not deserve. But, Rachel needed something to distract from her explanation and – to ease her own conscience – it wasn't like Quinn wholly didn't deserve it. Rachel didn't appreciate being lied to, and she did want to know what exactly it was Quinn had been doing. "What were you actually doing, and why did you think you had to lie about it?" As Rachel proposed the new, well-formed question, a flurry of scenarios ran through her head. All of them were grotesquely unpleasant, not to mention ludicrous and, quite frankly, terrifying. As a result, she'd rather not give any more than a fleeting thought to those...images. Truth. She needed the truth.
She levelled Quinn with a stare that would have impressed the ex-HBIC if she were not so disgruntled at having been caught in a lie. Quinn owed her...but then again, Quinn had also travelled – by train, no less, when the girl was completely swamped with school work – to make sure she (okay…and Santana and Kurt) were safe and alive. So maybe the blonde didn't exactly owe Rachel. Perhaps...it was actually the other way around. The brunette could feel the guilt start to eat at her, but she defensively shoved it back down. She could add this apology to the rapidly growing pile that she already owed the Yale undergraduate.
Quinn rolled her eyes. "Since when did you become my mother, Rachel?"
Said girl was becoming painfully aware of the altered way the other was currently saying her name. For one, it was her full name…no longer her nickname, Rach. For another, it was no longer said with affection but rather gross indifference. The small diva was starting to find that she absolutely hated it. She attributed the hatred to the fact that it reminded her of her torturous high school days, refusing to even consider the possibility that this probably was not the case.
"Since you are my guest," she grit out. Her glare's penetration deepened as her annoyance at Quinn actually gained some semblance of sustenance. "And I would appreciate not having my guests die on me." She paused for dramatic effect. "Or worse."
Quinn laughed scathingly, and Rachel realized all too quickly that the situation was rapidly devolving. This hadn't been her intention at all, what was she doing?! "It sure didn't feel like I was your guest back in your apartment, Rachel." The brunette winced at the statement, which wasn't completely unfounded. Oh, who was she kidding – the statement reeked of cold, hard fact.
And, there it was…the truth; she was no longer able to neither deny it any further nor maintain her frustration. Rachel's anger evaporated and her glare morphed into a beseeching gaze. She reached for the hem of Quinn's dress as she whispered, "I'm sorry," forcing Quinn to meet her gaze and hold it.
It was strange how quickly the situation had taken a 180. A few seconds earlier, and the tension in the air basically crackled with electricity. Now, the hallway was quiet, save for a small thud further up the foyer that both ignored. They held each other's gaze, each analyzing the other. One trying to understand if the other was sincere….the other trying to convey her sincerity.
After a few moments, the taller girl was the one to break eye contact. However, Rachel was pleased to see that the face of Quinn Fabray was no longer as…for lack of better word…icy as it had been just moments ago. There were other, more peculiar, emotions flitting just beneath the surface, but Rachel couldn't exactly put a name to them. They were altogether foreign to her.
"I…" the blonde trailed off, reaching for something in her pocket. "Needed a smoke break," she smiled weakly, pulling out a carton as evidence. "So I wasn't exactly lying about needing some air…to smoke."
Rachel's mouth dropped. "Quinn Fabray," she shrieked, dramatically, sounding much like a boiling over teapot. "I thought you had stopped that offending habit."
A perfectly plucked eyebrow rose in sheepish amusement. "Really Rach," As much as she hated to admit it - God, what was she, Quinn's loyal, golden retriever-, Rachel preened at the reinstatement of the nickname. Then, catching herself, she quickly snuffed her glee. She was supposed to be a mixture of irritated and horrified, not dog-trotting happy. "Mother much?"
"I'm just a concerned friend!" she retorted, her voice escalating both in pitch and in volume.
"Friends," Quinn seemed to emphasize that word, but Rachel didn't have enough time to analyze why. "Don't tell other friends that they are forbidden from smoking." Once again, Rachel Barbara Berry, Rachel Berry, found herself at a loss for words. Quinn had a point. But, the aforementioned girl took pity on Rachel, so Quinn continued, "The habit only presents itself occasionally." She threw Rachel a meaningful look. "Like when I'm…" The blonde uncharacteristically stumbled, but the subsequent words prohibited Rachel from ascribing to it much thought. "…pissed and confused." Quinn looked a little unsure at those last words, as if she had perhaps said had something she shouldn't have….or rather said too much.
But, that was the last thing Rachel was thinking of. The smaller girl felt herself deflate. She owed Quinn a proper apology…and the only way that was going to happen was with a proper explanation. She averted her gaze, looking down at the scuffed tile.
"I…I'm pregnant." Alright, so much for proper, Rachel thought sarcastically. The teen was prevented from berating herself further as a screech of Single Ladies rang out, interrupting her thoughts.
Someone's cell phone was ringing.
Kurt took off out the door, thinking he was on the heels of the two girls that had left their apartment just moments earlier. He had, his hair thoroughly mussed from the sprinting, found himself on the roof with no one around.
"I thought you said you were going on a smoke break," he yelled, in anguish, to no one in particular. Actually, that was a lie. He was yelling at the gods, at his cursed fate, and at one Quinn Fabray. "What kind of person doesn't take a stereotypical smoke break on the roof!?"
There was no one around him and a light drizzle had just broken out. Unable to appreciate the city lights below and around him (and, in addition, fearing for what was left of his perfectly coiffed hair), Kurt spun on his heels and hurried back the way he came.
I didn't actually tell Rachel that Quinn had only left for a cigarette, Kurt groaned to himself, cursing his mistake. He was charged with finding Rachel, not Quinn. Of course she wouldn't have been on the roof. What a blasted waste of time, he groaned pitifully. Then his emotions momentarily perked up as he realized, But…if Quinn's not on the roof…that means she took a drag outside….that means…
He rounded the flight of stairs on the second floor, almost completely out of breath. He paused; he had to take a minute to gather himself.
"I'm…" Kurt puffed. "Not…" He took another breath to steady himself. "An athlete," he finished his righteous, out of breath, whisper. "This is cruel and unusual," he muttered, finally catching his breath.
After a few more minutes, he gathered himself up and resumed running down the stairs. He had just stepped off the last step to the ground floor when he heard a bitter…
"Since when did you become my mother, Rachel?"
Confused, Kurt retreated behind the wall adjoining the staircase, crouching while allowing his head to just barely peek out around the strange plant at the corner. He didn't know why he bothered with the subterfuge. From his vantage point, he could see that the two girls he had been searching for were too preoccupied with themselves to notice semi-perfectly coiffed hair poking out from behind a rather large and ugly shrub-thingy.
Quinn had her arms crossed defiantly, which would have been more intimidating had she not been in a baby blue dress and cardigan. Scratch that, it was still extremely intimidating despite her being in a baby blue dress and cardigan. Her hazel eyes were narrowed and her lips had been drawn in a tight white line as she fixed Rachel with a cold stare.
Oh dear. Kurt wondered momentarily if he should interrupt the argument. Before he could decide, Rachel had already replied.
"Since you are my guest," was the irritated reply. Kurt wondered idly if Rachel just didn't realize in how much danger she was, or if she simply didn't care. She never had been one to fall under the effects of intimidation, Kurt thought to himself in wonder.
He continued to watch the scene unfold, enraptured. Rachel turned a little so that he had a view of something other than her back. The brunette's cheeks were puffed out in annoyance, but if Kurt knew anything about Rachel, she didn't act like that when she got…into one of her diva moods. So, was she faking her anger? But she seemed to actually be a little pissed off…Kurt's musing were interrupted as Rachel continued on, "And I would appreciate not having my guests die on me." There was a momentary pause, and Kurt looked on flabbergasted. Really? That's what she's going for? "Or worse."
Kurt could have face palmed. What kind of reasoning is that? Quinn Fabray was more than capable of taking care of herself. Did Rachel forget everything that had happened back in high school? Perhaps the fact that Quinn Fabray ruled their school without raising as much as a raised, finely manicured, pinky nail?
He saw the ex-cheerleader let out a bitter laugh. "It sure didn't feel like I was your guest back in your apartment, Rachel." Kurt found his jaw dropping. Quinn actually sounded…dare he even think it…hurt. Or…the more likely scenario was that he was just imagining things. He crept a little bit further past the edge, trying to stay hidden behind the plant next to his corner of the wall while getting a better view of the situation. If he could just see her body language, then maybe…
The blonde still had her arms crossed, but as he saw Rachel take a step closer towards her, he could have sworn that Quinn was contemplating taking a step backwards. At the last moment though, she seemed to make a quick resolution – deciding to stand her ground while continuing to imperturbably survey Rachel. The latter girl was now reaching out towards Quinn, who, if she confused or freaked out, was doing an absolutely stellar job of hiding it. Her face was a mask...of ice.
Ice queen, he mused. He could see where the name came from. He observed, perplexed and with growing surprise, as Rachel's expression transformed into something much softer. He couldn't ascribe a word to it even if he tried. She tugged at the hem of Quinn's dress, and Kurt had to just barely stop himself from pinching his arm to see if this wasn't some grossly twisted dream.
This…this was a scene out of some cheesy, romance story. One partner beseeching the other for forgiveness, what is Rachel thinking!? Kurt thought as his confusion continued to mount. Maybe if he got closer…
"I'm sorry." He almost didn't catch the lowly murmured words. As it was, he was already leaning out at an awkward angle, crouched precariously on his toes.
And now…are they staring into each other's eyes?! Kurt thought flabbergasted, craning his neck to get a better look. If I didn't know who they were, I would have sworn that they were in l…
Unfortunately, his line of thought was cut short as he cellphone fell from his pocket with a distinct thud. He almost screeched right there, but he settled for silently grabbing the traitorous object and whipping himself back towards the staircase.
He spent a few, nail-biting seconds, sitting there, waiting for either of the two girls to find him and do...god knows what. Rachel, he could deal with, but an angry Quinn? He started to feel himself tremble, but then reminded himself that it wasn't like he actually interrupted anything secretive. They were in a blasted public hallway for crying out loud! He hadn't done anything wrong! You know…sans the eavesdropping. This was all Santana's fault.
He inwardly groaned; he was screwed. Slushies at McKinley would pale in comparison to the punishment Quinn might dish out for such a crime. If he had to face an angry Santana or an angry Quinn, he would have easily and quickly chosen the former. At least, an angry Santana was predictable. An angry Quinn on the other hand...He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the footsteps that never came.
After a few minutes, he peeled one eye open. No one was hovering above him. No one was glaring at him. No one was even there. Had they not heard him? He was fairly certain it was a very loud and very obnoxious thud.
Struck with morbid curiosity (he really hoped that the saying –curiosity killed the cat—was completely unfounded), he made himself peer around the corner, ready – on a hair's breadth – to sprint for dear life if need be. Once again, he didn't know why he had bothered.
Apparently, in his terror, he had missed some of the conversation as Rachel had now taken a step back in, what seemed like, abject horror. Did Quinn just tell Rachel that she slept with Finn or something?
"Quinn Fabray," he heard her shriek. "I thought you had stopped that offending habit."
He didn't know why he let himself continue to be surprised by this conversation. It had left the realm of normal a long time ago. But yet again, surprise him it had. This was why Rachel was executing a scene? Because Quinn was smoking? Had Rachel accidentally eaten one of her neighbor's brownies this morning? His mind blanked in horror. Weed couldn't be good for the baby.
"Really Rach?" Apparently Quinn seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Kurt. "Mother much?"
Kurt rubbed his temple. He really needed to ingrain social mannerisms on Rachel. At the very least, the basic ones. He was also starting to find it grotesquely amusing that Quinn kept using the word mother; it was almost like she knew. But there was no way…
"I'm just a concerned friend!" Kurt couldn't believe that Rachel had the nerve to be insulted.
Apparently, she still hadn't figured out exactly what was allowed and what wasn't allowed within certain relationships. For example, friends didn't forbid friends from doing something. They might…cordially…express concern, but…
Once again, Quinn and Kurt seemed to be telepathic twins.
"Friends," Was Kurt imagining it, or had Quinn emphasized that word? What was she implying? Or rather, what wasn't she saying? "Don't tell other friends that they are forbidden from smoking."
Kurt allowed himself a smug smile, the weird emphasis on friends forgotten. Yes, he was the master of social rules and regulations.
"The habit only presents itself occasionally." Kurt could feel the gears clicking into place. Almost…"Like when I'm…pissed and confused." He could feel his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. Quinn looked sheepish and a little unsure, maybe even mildly horrified. But he couldn't be certain.
Had…was he just imagining it…but then, why would Quinn be upset enough at what transpired in the apartment to resume smoking…
He shook himself from his thoughts, keen on continuing to observe the conversation and perhaps getting some answers. Rachel was now staring at the ground, keenly studying the tiles.
What was she going to say? he wondered to himself. Was she wondering the same things he was?
"I…" Kurt waited with bated breath. "I'm pregnant."
And before Kurt could think anything in edgewise, his phone started blaring. He threw himself back around the corner, and crouched down, staring at the phone for a few precious seconds, unable to fathom what had just, and was currently, happening.
He stood up. There was no point in pretending to hide, he was done. Someone tell his father that he loved him. And Blaine...
Sighing to himself, Single Ladies stopped blasting as he picked up the phone.
"Hello?" he responded, unable to keep himself from whispering. He could have cried. Why hadn't his phone been on silent?
"Where the hell are you, Hummel?" came the vicious reply. Of course it'd be Santana, the bane of his existence. He groaned inwardly. "Have you found Ra—Berry yet? It's fucking eight fifteen, what have you been doing?"
Kurt raised an eyebrow. He seemed to be doing that a lot today. Had she almost just said Rachel's name? "I found both of them," he muttered back. He could almost hear an appreciative silence. But maybe, once more, that was his imagination. The stupid thing was rather overactive today. Today, of all days. "They're fine…well, not dead anyways," he amended, not exactly sure that weird argument/conversation counted as 'being fine.' "And it's only 8:05," he retorted, unable to help himself.
There was another, more sinister, moment of silence on the other end of the line. "Hummel, if you're being cheeky, so help me…"
Kurt gulped. Right. Cheeky, bad.
"Not at all Santana," he added hastily. "I've got to go. You're breaking up. Bye," he finished before rapidly ending the call.
Kurt groaned. He would have hell to pay later. But then he remembered - angry Santana over angry Quinn any day. And, remembering his choice, he quickly retreated up the stairs, refusing to look over his shoulder and see if there were two angry girls standing behind him.