A/N: thank you for reviewing. bear with me, last set-up chapter!
Chapter 3
What Happened When I Was Gone?
"You can't change the past. But you can let go and start your future." – Quinn Fabray
John was lifting a sterling white coffee mug when a screeching female voice pierced his silent breakfast.
"You did NOT tell me you were MARRIED TO QUINN FABRAY!"
A half-running, half-jumping Rachel Berry was darting down the curling wooden staircase, an outstretched finger pointing directly in front of her, which stood a closet. She spun around, looking for the kitchen in the unfamiliar house.
"Over here," John's sing-song voiced floated.
A furious Rachel Berry spun again and pounced into the dining room, finding a sitting John staring innocently at her.
"You're married to QUINN FABRAY?" Rachel repeated.
"I'm sorry if I crossed a moral boundary by sleeping with you…"
"No," Rachel chided, her mind unclouded by that thought. "You are Quinn Fabray are married."
"Yes. She's a lawyer, we met in…"
"You cannot be married to Quinn Fabray!"
"Yes I can. I am," he asserted, holding up his hand. There was no wedding ring there, of course.
Rachel stopped, momentarily breathless from her reprimanding.
"Why are you so uh, upset that I'm married?"
"I am not upset that you are married, John," she said disapprovingly.
"Then why are you upset?"
Good question. Why was Rachel upset?
"Because… you are married… to Quinn Fabray."
"Is there a problem with me being married to Quinn?"
"Yes!" Rachel blurted. "I mean… no."
John raised an eyebrow. "Why don't you sit down, Rachel." He stood up, walking his coffeemaker. "Coffee?"
"No. Coffee contains an abnormal amount of caffeine which interferes with my—"
John set the filled mug in front of her.
"Hmph." She disregarded the swirling black liquid.
"Eggs? Bacon? Ham?"
"You're married to Quinn Fabray," Rachel said simply.
John sighed, slightly tired of the vocal tirade from the miniature girl.
"This has never happened the morning after with a girl," he mumbled to himself. "I am, Rachel. We got married when we were in Yale Law together. Both top in the class. Are you Quinn's friend?"
Rachel opened her mouth, and hesitated for a second.
"No," she said solidly.
"I thought I had met all of them," John said to himself.
"Did you sleep with all of them, too?" Rachel retorted.
"Well— no," he stumbled, saving himself from uttering not yet.
Rachel gave him a stern look, clearly receiving the meaning of his response.
"Rachel, Quinn and I are… it was a mistake. I can tell she's not happy, and I'm…"
"You and Quinn are not happy together?" Rachel questioned, refraining from finishing his sentence with sleeping with all her friends.
"It's been an obvious mistake, getting married," John admitted. "But it was Quinn's idea… now, she comes home like three times a week. Always working."
That solved Rachel's internal query of how she slept in Quinn's bed without her being home.
The detail caught her attention.
She slept in Quinn's bed.
She re-focused herself, suddenly very aware of how she smelled.
Quinn's scent.
She'd recognize it any time.
"Um… so Quinn doesn't come home often?" she asked, without any direction.
"She works and works. She's one of her firm's best lawyers. Senior associate and barely 25."
Rachel didn't know what senior associate meant but she smiled inside. Quinn would totally make an awesome lawyer, in her head.
She pictured a vicious Quinn tearing apart her opposing council in court. The Quinn was a little older and mature, but still retained her youth and was extremely pretty.
Then she realized she hadn't seen Quinn in five years… what did 25 year old Quinn like?
She scanned her surroundings for photo frames, but only vases and small statuettes that might've been wedding gifts decorated the furniture. Abandoned legal pads sat on the tables, littered with scratch pen marks.
"So," Rachel said pleasantly, "while Quinn is conquering the legal community with her delectable charm, what is your job?"
John's face fell.
"I'm a lawyer too. I got laid off on cutbacks from my firm a month ago."
"Are you as good as Quinn?"
John laughed. "No. That girl's a star," he said dreamily.
"A star?" Rachel repeated. I'm a star.
"Yeah, she's feared by like everyone. A magazine did a big profile on her, we have a copy somewhere, she didn't want to frame it."
Rachel nodded absentmindedly. So Quinn made it. A top lawyer in New York City. And Rachel hadn't, toiling on Off-Off-Broadway stages. It was the most she had thought of Quinn since that afternoon.
That afternoon.
"Will Quinn be returning home today?"
John's eyes narrowed at the question. Rachel sounded quite interested in his wife, for a girl who didn't consider her a friend.
"Sometime tonight, she said yesterday." He paused. "Do you want to see her?"
Rachel froze. Did she?
"I… I'm not sure," she mumbled, conflicted. She peered at her watch. "I need to go to work."
"Tell Quinn…"
Rachel hesitated, standing up. "Never mind. Um. Thank you for last night."
"Oh, thank you," he smiled cheekily.
She approached the white double doors, hesitating again.
Quinn's house.
"Bye," she said to him blankly.
She stepped out and descended down the steps, trying not to look back at the magnificent mansion.
Queen's was its usual busy self today, with the lunch crowd trickling in. A couple of small groups sat in the waiting area, waiting to be served.
In the dining room, an empty water glass slipped through Rachel's fingers and hit the floor, shattering into small pieces.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!"
She ran through the swinging staff door and retrieved a brush and dust pan, and hurried back out to the table.
"I am so sorry, sir, please allow me to clean this up," she shrieked, flustering, to the wordless, patient-looking patron.
It was the second glass Rachel had broke today. She had been a perfect waitress before, swift, adroit and polite. Her confidence sagged, feeling the dishes were weighing heavily in her hands today.
She mumbled to herself as she carried the broken glass to a trash can, and found Frederica suddenly beside her.
"Rachel, are you feeling alright today? You look very distracted."
"Yes. Yes, I am absolutely fine today, thank you."
"You've broken two glasses today and I saw you almost drop someone's lunch today. Are you sure you're alright?"
Rachel dropped into an idle chair.
"No, I'm not," she admitted, expelling a big sigh.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Freddy pulled a chair from an empty table, sitting to Rachel's left.
"My friend," Rachel began, "my ex-friend," she repeated forcefully. "I think I…"
Rachel looked up at Freddy and started crying.
"Oh…" Freddy drew her arms around Rachel, letting her cry on her shoulder. "Rachel, maybe you should take the rest of the day off. Your mind looks elsewhere today."
Rachel sniffed in response.
"But it's only noon."
"That's okay, Rachel. We can handle it. I'll call someone."
"Okay," Rachel said miserably.
"Do you want me to call someone for you?"
Rachel stared at Freddy.
"There isn't anyone."
6:56 PM.
Rachel twisted under her sheets. She had been under them for six hours, unable to fall asleep. Her routine never specified sleeping in the afternoon hours, so her body must have rejected the attempt.
Quinn.
Or perhaps she was distracted.
Rachel reached for her bag and pulled out a laminated bus pass from a zippered compartment. It was a little tattered from its use. She remembered using it for the first time seven years ago, and seeing Quinn, blossoming Yale drama student, waiting for her in Connecticut with a smile and a single, white gardenia.
Quinn had lovingly embraced her when Rachel had stepped off the bus. The embrace signified post-high school independence, a solidified friendship, and anticipation for tackling the future – together.
She remembered how excited Quinn was that day, and how excited she was herself. She had felt hope and optimism, for their friendship and careers. Gone were the high school theatrics and only the best moments were retained. The Ivy League Quinn Fabray and singing sensation Rachel Berry were going to take New York.
The gardenia… Rachel had carried it all day with her while Quinn gave her a Yale campus tour.
Rachel smiled at the happy memory, and perched the cherished Metro North pass on her dresser. The setting sun shone on the plastic coat, reflecting glimpses of light onto her ceiling.
Feeling uplifted, she crawled out of bed, in search of her best dress and makeup.
Thirty minutes later, an attractive Rachel Berry emerged from her apartment, hair meticulously brushed and wearing a smooth navy blue top with a belt and matching, folded knee-length skirt. She cheerfully hailed down a taxi cab, rehearsing the address to the driver.
"That the Fabray house?" the driver gruffly asked.
"Oh. Yes, yes it is," she answered, taken aback. New York taxi drivers knew the address of Quinn and John's mansion?
Rachel sat silently, interlocking her fingers in her lap. The night had fallen over New York now. Would Quinn be back? They hadn't seen each other in five years, ever since that afternoon when Quinn…
The memory was still vivid for Rachel, it was the last time she saw Quinn's beautiful face. What did she look like now? What was she like now? Maybe she's changed, becoming a lawyer?
It seemed improbable that Quinn was famous enough for her cab driver to know the address… but he did. How much of a celebrity was Quinn? Rachel hadn't accomplished much in her life…
"You a client of hers?" the gruff voice spoke.
"I'm sorry?"
"Quinn Fabray. You a client of hers?"
Oh. "No, just an old friend. An old acquaintance," Rachel corrected.
"Ah. She defended me once. Was gettin' sued in a fender-bender, she took th' case for free and won. Guy was suing me for reckless drivin', thought I was a goner."
Rachel listened, not sure what to say.
"Quinn's a nice person," she said plainly, feeling a little uncomfortable in the declaration. Did she have a right making such statements when the taxi driver ostensibly saw Quinn more recently than Rachel herself?
"You betcha. Terrifyin' in court though, just sat and watched her tear the other side's case apart. Wouldn't wanna be that person."
Rachel was silent, as she absorbed the second recounting of Quinn's skilled litigation abilities. This time from a total stranger.
The taxi pulled up to the mansion. Lights illuminated the house from the garage to the front porch. Maybe Quinn was back? Nervousness overtook her.
"Thank you," Rachel handed the driver some bills.
Stepping up onto the porch, Rachel took a deep breath, as she did before each performance.
What would Quinn say? It was Rachel's fault they were apart. She had never returned any of Quinn's messages or calls after that afternoon. What would she be like? How would she react to – oh my god – what would she say about her and John sleeping together last night?
An instinct to turn back emerged, but Rachel held her feet firm on the welcome mat. She could not turn back. Rachel Berry never quit. But what if she wasn't wanted?
The door suddenly swung open, and John's figure stood in the light.
"Rachel. You're back."
"Is… Is Quinn here?"
"Not yet," he said, shaking his head. "Come in. Guess you're not here for seconds then."
It took a while for Rachel to understand his meaning. She shot him a disapproving look.
"Are you not roaming around philandering at the bars tonight?"
"Worth a shot," he chuckled. "Have a seat. I was just watching some TV."
"May I use the bathroom?"
"Sure thing. Guest bathroom's down the hall," he directed.
"If you are going to proposition me, you should at least offer me the courtesy of your best bathroom, you know," Rachel scolded.
"Well, you'd have to accept first, right?"
Rachel shot him another look.
"Upstairs, you know where," he conceded.
She made her way up the steps, distantly remembering do the same last night with John's lips attached to hers. She entered the master bedroom, finding it dark. She found a light switch and the familiar setting appeared in front of her. The bed was made, but otherwise, it looked the same as she left it.
Quinn's scent.
She found her way back to the bathroom, the intrusive feeling upon her again. She stared at the counter, toiletries still lined up, untouched. But they were different to Rachel now. They were Quinn's hair brush, and Quinn's chapstick.
Rachel stared into the mirror, and the reflection of the spacious bathroom appeared before her. A shower and bath were on opposite corners of it behind her, and there were two sinks on the counter, which stretched the entire room.
She exited the bathroom, forgetting that she had to use it, and examined the bedroom again. Law volumes lined the upper shelves of the long, wooden bookcase. Children's titles sat in the middle.
Gazing over at the window across the room, Rachel smiled at the nested reading area that sat beneath it. She pictured Quinn lying down and reading there. The moonlight was dancing through the window, and imaginary Quinn's shiny blonde locks were reflecting the light as she turned the page…
"Rachel?" whispered a familiar, delicate female voice.
thank you for reviewing :)