Author's Note: So I realized I should point out that in a previous chapter, in the FMK game, the choice to include Sofia Vergara in the game was one I made back in June or July, before the gif-makers of the fandom cast her as Santana's mother. Thus, my choice was not meant to be either "meta" or borderline incestuous. (I just feel better having that off my chest.)
Author's Note 2: I always swore I would not coddle readers by warning them ahead of time when segments of my stories were angsty or otherwise difficult to get through, even though with this particular story I keep getting reviews/comments/asks pointing out "But they're all being so AWFUL!"
Then I showed this chapter to my girlfriend last night, and she called me "demonic" and refused to sit in the living room with me for an hour. So here you go: This chapter might have sad things. (It might also have some really happy things. You might have to read it to find out.)
Monday, July 4 / 2:30pm
In what was surely one of the more surreal experiences of the summer so far, Santana was following Rachel down the poorly-lit central corridor of the Humphrey Hall of Medical Sciences at Ohio University, clutching Brittany's hand for security.
"This place is freakin' creepy," she muttered, putting into words what all three of them were thinking.
"Totally. Rachel, please tell me we won't meet a radioactive chimpanzee."
"Very few research institutions in the US still work with chimpanzees, Brittany," Rachel replied. "You're way more likely to encounter a transgenic mouse or rat than a mutant monkey."
"Oh," Brittany said, rising to her tiptoes and drawing closer to Santana.
"Anyway, the hallway is only creepy because it's a holiday and there's no one around," Rachel continued. "You should see it like the day Quinn first brought me here, full of college students. Imagine it brimming with life, with eager young minds waiting to be filled with knowledge!"
"If you keep using words like eager, young, and filled, Berry, I'm going to think you have something else on your mind besides knowledge."
"Dirtiest mind ever," Rachel sighed.
Brittany tickled Santana's sides. "I like your mind."
"So what does Quinn actually do here, anyway?" Santana asked, squirming out of Brittany's reach. "And why does she have to do it on the fourth of July?" She peeked into each doorway they passed, in morbid hopes that she would see something explode.
"I don't know, exactly," Rachel admitted. "Something about using glowing molecules to see otherwise invisible things in brain cells. Apparently if she misses a day in the procedure she can ruin a week's worth of work – I've already gotten the 'biology doesn't care that it's a weekend' speech several times now. It seems like a lot of responsibility, but also quite resume-worthy."
"That is some serious hard core nerd shit," Santana said, mildly disgusted. "When did this even happen?"
"I'm not sure about that either," Rachel said. "I can't say Quinn ever seemed all that enamored with biology to me, but you know how she is when faced with a challenge. In any case, whether it's keen interest or her competitive nature, something is keeping her here nearly triple the amount of hours she's required to work to get credit for the project."
"So how can you be sure she'll be willing to leave right now?"
"I'm not," Rachel said, stopping and turning to face Santana. "I'm not at all. But things have been terrible between us, Santana. I have to try something."
"Well, if she doesn't like this idea she's a total asshole, so."
Rachel smiled appreciatively at Santana's version of reassurance.
"This is it," she said, pushing open a heavy brown door.
They filed into the lab cautiously, Rachel leading the way.
"Quinn?" Rachel called out.
They saw her before she saw them. She was standing at a lab bench with her back to the door, hunched over whatever it was she was doing. She was wearing a knee-length white coat and enormous goggles, and her hair was pulled back, Cheerios-style.
"Oh sweet baby Jesus," Santana muttered. "Where's my phone? This is madness. This is madness that needs to be on Facebook."
Quinn jumped, and whirled around at the sound of Santana's voice.
"What are you doing here?" she asked angrily, ripping off her goggles as soon as she noticed Santana taking pictures.
"I wanted to surprise you," Rachel smiled. She walked up to Quinn and put her arms around her shoulders.
"Rachel, I could get in trouble for this," Quinn said, removing Rachel's arms from around her. "It's a safety liability."
"Who's going to tell? You said you'd be the only one here today!"
Brittany hovered above Quinn's experimental setup on the lab bench. "What is this stuff, Quinn?"
"Don't touch it," Quinn said, turning toward Brittany, "It's. . . it's called immunohistochemistry."
"In what language?" Brittany asked in an awed whisper.
"In English," Quinn smirked. "See those little gray splotches in the glass dishes? Those are pieces of a mouse's brain."
Brittany's excited expression fell. She quickly took two steps backwards, retreating to Santana's side.
"That is disgusting, Q," Santana said. "Where do you keep the barf bags? I need one."
"Now, Santana," Rachel said, "As a vegan, I will admit to having some initial difficulty with the nature of Quinn's work, but when you consider the medical advances that have been made this way, you must realize—"
"Hey Quinn!" a voice came from the adjoining room, cutting off Rachel's lecture. "Do you know where Doctor Henry left the microscope key?"
Through the doorway from the adjoining lab, came a tall, fuzzy-haired student of about 21.
"Oh," he said, surprised. "Sorry, Quinn, didn't mean to interrupt," he apologized with a charming smile.
Quinn smiled back at him. "Doug, these are my friends, Santana, Brittany, and Rachel." She stepped backwards from Rachel, placing herself between Santana and Brittany. "Guys, this is Doug, an undergraduate researcher in the lab."
"I would shake your hands," he said, holding up his right hand to show them his purple gloves, "but then your hands would smell like latex all day."
Santana snickered.
"So Quinn, are your friends all budding scientists, too?" he continued. "We can always use more cheap labor around here."
"You mean slave labor?" Quinn replied. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I don't think you want any of them around your experiments. Not that your experiments ever work, anyway," she added with a teasing smile.
Santana officially did not like this Doug character or the vibes she was picking up when Quinn spoke to him.
Doug placed his purple-gloved hand over his heart. "That hurts," he said. "Hey, just because you caught on in like an hour doesn't mean you can look down upon us mere mortals."
"What can I say? When you're good, you're good," Quinn said with a nonchalant wave of her hand, grinning, until she caught sight of Santana's glare.
"Well, anyway," Doug continued. "I'll get out of your hair. Quinn, I'll be at the microscope if you get any cool results you want to show me. Nice meeting you ladies."
"Likewise," Rachel called after him with a smile.
"I thought you told Rachel you would be the only one here today," Santana said as Doug exited the room.
"I thought I was. He won't tell my boss, if that's what you're worried about," she added after a pause.
"It's not."
"Anyway," Rachel said, taking hold of Quinn's forearms and pulling her to the center of the room. "There's a reason that we're here, Quinn. Brittany, can I have the thing now, please?"
Brittany reached into her purse and retrieved a tiny jewelry box.
Rachel cleared her throat, smoothed her hair and straightened her shirt and skirt. She took the box from Brittany, and dropped to one knee.
"Rachel, what . . ." Quinn said, her eyes darting around the room.
"Quinn, I know things have been hard lately, for you and for us," Rachel said, gazing up at Quinn from her spot on the floor. "And I know you've been sad. I'm here to tell you I want to make that go away. I want to make it go away for at least for one, perfect night. Quinn, there's a place I used to go with my dads on the Fourth of July, a beach, and it's one of my favorite places on earth."
Rachel opened the jewelry box and Quinn reached forward to take the folded-up piece of paper that rested inside.
She unfolded it to reveal the torn-off front page of a park brochure.
"East Harbor State Park?"
"Quinn Fabray," Rachel said sincerely, "Will you go see the fireworks with me tonight?"
"So stupid," Santana muttered, dabbing her eye with the knuckle of her index finger.
The wrinkled disapproval on Quinn's face smoothed itself into a soft smile.
"I think. . ." she said, smiling down at Rachel, "I think that sounds like fun."
..
Rachel, Santana, and Brittany waited in the courtyard outside the building as Quinn finished up her work for the day.
"You look so pretty," Rachel said as Quinn emerged from the building half an hour later, sans white coat and goggles.
"You're full of it," Quinn said, but let Rachel take her hand. "Also, this isn't exactly beach attire," she pointed out, gesturing down at her long pants and sneakers.
"Not to worry. I stopped at your house and got all of your stuff – sundress, bathing suit, towels, flip flops, sweater for when it gets cold. Everything you need."
Quinn furrowed her brow. "My mother let you up in my room? She barely knows who you are."
"I made Brittany stop on the way and asked her to go in. I figured that was the best option since you're always telling me Judy doesn't trust Santana."
"Wait, what?" Santana asked.
"Brittany is driving?" Quinn whispered alarmedly at Rachel, ignoring Santana's distress. "Is that safe?"
"It's at least as safe as Santana driving," Rachel whispered back. "Relax, Quinn. This will be fun."
..
"Okay we need some food," Santana said, after they had been in the car for approximately four minutes.
"No no, that's taken care of too! I packed a picnic dinner for when we get there," Rachel said brightly.
"It's a two-hour trip," Santana reminded her. "Do you know how long Britts and I worked out this morning? I needs to refuel for the drive."
"I want chicken nuggets," Brittany informed the car.
Fifteen minutes later, the car smelled of McDonald's and they were merging onto I-75 towards Lake Erie. Rachel and Quinn held hands in the back seat, gazing out the window. In the front seat, Santana held a box of French fries on the middle armrest so Brittany could reach into them while she drove.
"Oooh! I almost forgot," Rachel said, bolting upright. "I made an official Fourth of July road trip mix. If you'll do the honors and hook this up, Santana," Rachel said, handing forward her iPod. "We can shuffle the mix entitled 'Americana.'"
"Oh, hell no," Santana said, skipping ahead when the first track played. "Berry, I don't know what this is, but I draw the line at banjo."
"It's called bluegrass, Santana," Rachel said witheringly. "It's a uniquely American genre."
"It is uniquely terrible."
"Fine. But if you give it a chance, you'll find that rock 'n roll, hip hop, rap, and country are all heavily-represented in this playlist," Rachel frowned. "As well as some of the finest American musical theater of our time."
"Umm, is this Led Zeppelin?" Quinn asked as the next track began.
"Yeah, why?" Santana asked, checking Rachel's iPod.
"Rachel, you know they're British, right?"
"What? No, that can't be right. Their songs are in all those commercials for those gigantic pickup trucks that only people in America buy."
"It's okay, Rach," Quinn said, patting her on the arm. "It's the patriotic spirit that counts."
..
Two and a half hours later, after a series of rest stop breaks (because Brittany drank too much Diet Dr Pepper), they pulled into a parking lot at the East Harbor State Park on the southwest shore of Lake Erie.
"Help me get the cooler!" Rachel chirped at Quinn as they disembarked from the car. "I brought PB&J, chips and salsa, potato salad, and chocolate chip cookies."
"And I brought the weed," Santana said, pulling a plastic bag out of her pocket and dangling it in Rachel's face.
"So did I," said Quinn, unzipping her purse and pulling out her own plastic bag.
"Hey, that's not my shit," Santana said, grabbing it. "Where the hell did you get that?"
"What? I know college people now," Quinn said.
"Okay, it's gonna be a good day," Santana proclaimed, grabbing the blankets and Brittany's hand and galloping toward the beach.
"Don't worry, we'll handle the cooler," Quinn said wryly to their backs.
"It's okay," Rachel said, smiling at Quinn. "PB&J isn't that heavy."
They took either side of the cooler and made their way to the blankets that Brittany and Santana were laying out on the sand.
"Does she really need sunscreen?" Quinn asked Santana, who was massaging Brittany's shoulders. "It's six-thirty PM."
"Shhhh," Santana mouthed silently, running her hands over Brittany's lower back.
The beach was about as crowded as one would expect for a fourth of July evening. It seemed like everyone was well into their day of revelry, judging by the peals of laughter ringing out across the beach, the kind that generally only come from those who are working on their fifth or sixth beer.
At the water's edge, families with young children congregated to wade and build sandcastles, and the occasional high-pitched tantrum or squeal of a toddler's delight cut through the lower tones of crowd noise and crashing waves.
The sun wove between the clouds, giving the expanse of the lake in front of them a patchwork pattern of shadow and glittering light. They settled onto their blankets facing the water, legs stretched out in front of them.
"Are you thirsty, Quinn?" Brittany asked, reaching into her purse.
"Sure, thanks," Quinn replied, and Brittany handed her a water bottle.
Quinn took a sip and her eyes went wide. "Brittany, is that vodka!"
"What did you think it was?"
Quinn gaped at her. But as the burning faded from her tongue and esophagus, it dawned on her that this was not actually a bad thing. She shrugged and took another sip before handing the bottle to Rachel.
It was still hot and humid despite the fact that it was approaching 7PM. After a little wheedling, Rachel and Brittany convinced Quinn and Santana to venture down to the water, where they wove among the families trying to squeeze one last hour of daylight out of their holiday.
"Ready?" Rachel asked Quinn, as the water cascaded over their feet and lapped at their ankles.
"Ha," Quinn said. "This is as far as I go."
"Don't you want to cool off?" Rachel pouted.
"You go ahead," Quinn said with a smile. "I'll watch from here."
"No, see Rachel, you're going about this all wrong," Santana said, eyeing Quinn.
"Don't," Quinn warned.
"Oh, yeah no, don't worry," Santana said, and a split second later kicked enough water at Quinn to completely drench her.
"Bitch," Quinn sputtered. "This is freezing!"
"Hey, would you watch your mouth, you asshat? There are little kids here."
"I guess that's one way to get some personal space," Rachel remarked as nearby parents with small children started to back away.
"Rachel, do they still have the fireworks if it's raining? Cause I just saw lightning," Brittany observed with a frown, just as they waded in up to their waists.
"Yeah but, we should probably get out of the water," Rachel advised.
"Last one to the car doesn't get any weed," Santana said, already halfway back to the sand.
..
It was one of those pop-up, short and angry thunderstorms that likes to show up in mid-summer in Ohio. It was already pouring by the time they made it back to the parking lot with their towels and blankets, and they fell into the car with soaking wet bathing suits and linens full of sand.
"Oh my God, my mom's car," Brittany said, laughing nervously and sweeping the sand from the seats. "I'm in so much trouble."
"Whatever, we'll save her some weed, she'll be fine," Santana waved her off. "Rachel, give me back your terrible music, I'm kind of in the mood for it."
"I'll help you vacuum out the car tomorrow, Brittany," Quinn offered.
"Thanks, Quinn."
"Shit, you're so damn much nicer with hard liquor in your system, Fabray," Santana remarked, smoothing a rolling paper against her knee. "Why don't you just make it official and embrace your alcoholism?"
"At least something works for me."
"Santana, turn it down a little, I want to hear the rain," Rachel said, craning her head backwards to watch the raindrops smash against the glass.
"And Berry isn't even high yet," Santana smirked, turning the volume down.
"I think that means I need that vodka," Rachel said. She placed her hand on Quinn's thigh for leverage and leaned forward into the front seat, taking the bottle from Santana's hand.
"Just so you know, Berry, Quinn could not be checking your ass out any harder right now," Santana remarked, following Quinn's eye line as Rachel lowered herself back into the back seat.
"Mind your own business," Quinn said.
"Is it true, Quinn?" Rachel asked with a shy smile.
"Can I just have the water bottle?" Quinn said, rolling her eyes.
"In a minute," Rachel said softly, setting it on the other side of her where Quinn couldn't reach it.
"Rachel, what are you doing?" Quinn asked. She attempted to look cross, but a smile crept onto her face as Rachel leaned in.
"Nothing," Rachel shrugged. She raised her far leg and turned herself around to drape it across Quinn's lap.
"Rachel. . ."
"What?"
Rachel pressed her belly into Quinn's as she adjusted herself into Quinn's lap. Quinn's hands wrapped around Rachel's bare hips.
Rachel held her lips a mere millimeter above Quinn's.
"Stop it," Quinn said unconvincingly.
Rachel brushed Quinn's lips lightly with her own, and Quinn's nails dug into her skin.
"Stop," Quinn giggled, and squirmed like she was being tickled.
Rachel put her hands on either side of Quinn's face and ran the tip of her tongue along Quinn's bottom lip, and Quinn whispered an unintelligible syllable.
"Mmm," Rachel said, and then couldn't wait any longer to kiss her.
"Santana," Brittany said, a moment later.
"Mmm?"
"You're drooling at Rachel and Quinn kissing."
"I am not, I'm. . . watching the rain," Santana protested, snapping her head away from the scene in the back seat to face Brittany's grin. "Hey, horndogs, get a room!" she yelled, reaching backwards to smack Quinn's hands away from Rachel's back.
Rachel peeled herself away from Quinn, grinning with pride at the dazed, dreamy look she left on her face.
Quinn reached forward and hit the head rest of Santana's seat with the heel of her hand. "Give me that joint," she demanded.
Santana's coughed out a puff of smoke as her head bounced off the headrest.
"Ow, Jesus Christ, HERE!"
..
They finished smoking around the same time the storm moved along, leaving a bright yellow and orange sunset in its wake.
"Now that is just ridiculous," Santana said, gesturing out the front window. "Now I have to take a picture of like, nature shit. So lame," she said, snapping pictures with her phone.
"Oh, shoot! Guys, we have to go," Rachel said, sitting up, suddenly realizing the sunset meant darkness, and darkness meant fireworks.
"Go?" Quinn asked dazedly, frowning at the sudden absence of a Rachel draped across her side.
"To where we're gonna watch the fireworks," she clarified.
"I thought you said we could see them from the beach," Santana said.
"I didn't say which beach. Everybody out!"
The air was chilled and damp now, and the tide was coming in, crashing more and more loudly into the sand down at the beach. The families clogging the park an hour ago had scattered, leaving the park or huddling together under the shelters scattered across the beach. The girls threw on wraps, skirts, or hoodies and shook the sand out of their towels. Rachel removed two flashlights from a bag in the trunk and handed one to Santana.
"It's down this trail," she said, heading toward the far side of the parking lot.
"Is she for real?" Santana asked, alarmed. "We're walking into the woods when it's about to get dark?"
"Would you just trust me, Santana? I've done this a million times with my dads. Or, well, twice. And I mean, never at night or by myself, and I hadn't ever had illicit substances first, but I'm sure it'll be completely fine."
They made their way down the paved biking trail for about ten minutes in the fading twilight, past benches, branches of the trail, and display stations more cheerful than anyone should ever be in describing Ohio wildlife.
"It's here," Rachel said, stopping suddenly in her tracks. "This sign about fines for littering marks the spot."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Santana said as Rachel stepped off the trail and into the brush. "We're going in THERE?"
"We're going to the BEACH, Santana. We have to walk toward the lake."
"I don't even know where the fuck we're going right now," Santana grumbled as they made their way through the brush, stepping over roots and tangles that seemed to be reaching up specifically to trip them. Santana detached a rogue prickly branch from the sleeve of her hoodie. "She's bringing us out here to kill us, it's so obvious. This is it, Britt. Let's do it one last time."
"That's not going to happen," Quinn said solemnly from behind Santana.
"What?"
"Brittany's in on it," Quinn continued. "We all are. Rachel's not bringing us out here, we're bringing you."
Rachel giggled and elbowed Quinn. "You're so mean."
"Don't try to giggle and back out now, Rachel, just because you're getting cold feet," Quinn said.
"She's going to start speaking Spanish now," Brittany said. "You're freaking her out."
"I'm not freaked out," Santana argued.
"BOO!" Quinn said, right behind Santana's head. Santana jumped a foot in the air and fell into Brittany's arms.
"Fabray, you are ON my LIST," she said, pointing at Quinn's smirking face with her flashlight. "Imma take you to LHA at 3am and leave you on a corner."
"I'll try to survive the rogue lawn sprinklers."
"We're here," Rachel announced, pushing aside a bundle of branches that was the last remaining obstacle between them and the promised beach.
"You're welcome," she said softly as they stepped out onto the sand.
Rachel's beach was not an island paradise. It was a tiny patch of sand that, after the rainstorm, was muddy and littered with driftwood. But it was beautiful in the last faint glow of sunset, and deserted, and perfectly quiet except for the waves crashing in with a roar.
"Nice work, Berry," Santana conceded as they laid out their blankets.
"I can't believe you found us our own beach," Quinn whispered to Rachel as Rachel settled in against her on the blanket.
"Technically my dads found it," Rachel smiled. "Look, that faint glow over there is Cedar Point."
"Is that where the fireworks are gonna come from?" Brittany asked.
"I think they shoot them from a barge out on the lake."
"Hey, I see one!" Brittany called out, pointing as one red firework exploded in the sky. "Ooooooooh!" she said, drawing out the syllable for several seconds.
"Britt, what was that about?" Santana laughed.
"That's what you're supposed to say. When you see something awesome, you say 'Ooooh!' and 'Aaaahh!'"
As the next firework burst in the air, they all humored Brittany and, in unison, said "Ooooh, aaaahhh!"
"Eeeeeee, Iiiiiii," Santana added.
"Eeeeee, Iiiiii," they all mimicked.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaa, yoooooooooooo," Rachel continued.
"And sometimes Y," Quinn deadpanned.
"And sometimes YYYYYYYYY!" they all yelled together, and Santana fell backwards into the sand in laughter.
"Yo, but these are the lamest fireworks ever," she said, sitting back up. "Has it been like one firework every two minutes?"
"Something like that," Rachel agreed. "But it's more about the ambiance, don't you think?"
"Hey, three at once," Quinn pointed out, "I think that was the grand finale."
Brittany clapped.
"Okay, I need the bathroom," Rachel announced. "Quinn, I'm going to need you to walk me to the little outhouse thingie we passed on the way."
"All right," Quinn sighed.
"Watch out for raccoons," Santana called out. "And take your time," she said quietly, pushing Brittany to the ground as Quinn and Rachel disappeared into the brush.
..
Rachel was singing as she and Quinn walked back toward the beach from the bathroom. Other than the waves on the lake and the synchronous chirping of probably a million crickets, it was the only sound.
Quinn was following Rachel down the trail – gingerly, in case there were spiders - and smiling to herself. This was nice; she felt nice. She felt a little high and a little drunk, and a little tingly with nervous excitement about their dark, deserted location. Rachel made a sudden sidestep, avoiding a mud puddle. Even though they'd been in the lake, and rained on, and in a car filled with smoke, she could still catch the scent of Rachel's hair when as it bounced across her shoulders with the sudden movement.
"Okay, here's our turn," Rachel whispered, taking Quinn's hand. "Ready?"
It was even more challenging this time, in the cover of full night time, to get from the path down to the beach. Quinn's spine prickled at the shadows. She focused on Rachel's hand and the reassuring glow of the flashlight in front of them.
They were almost back to the beach – Quinn could tell by how close the sound of the waves was getting. Rachel was pushing aside some low-hanging branches when she stopped in her tracks so fast that Quinn ran right into her. Rachel turned around, her hand over her mouth.
"What is it?" Quinn asked, her eyes widening. "Is it a raccoon? A bear?"
"No, it's. . ." Rachel trailed off, shaking her head. "It's our friends." She pulled aside the vegetation blocking Quinn's view.
In the moonlight, Quinn could see their silhouette. She didn't look long enough to discern who was on top of whom, but someone's legs were definitely around someone else's neck.
She smacked at Rachel's hand so the branches fell back into place.
They stared at each other in mild horror through the darkness, unsure what was to be said or done. Quinn found herself wanting to be silent so their presence wasn't known, but simultaneously make a TON of noise to cover up the sounds that she was hearing.
Then, behind her fingers, Rachel's eyes crinkled. And then Quinn was laughing, and Rachel was laughing and they were hurrying back through the brush with much less care than they'd come with, back towards the ignorant bliss of the trail.
"They are going to have sand in so many bad places," Quinn said as they reached the pavement.
"They had to have known we would get back in time to catch them," Rachel said incredulously.
"Please, they don't care."
"So what do we do now? Just. . . wait? How do we know when they're done?" Rachel asked, giggling again.
"I volunteer you to go check in ten minutes."
"Or. . ." Rachel said, taking a step closer to Quinn.
Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Or what, Rachel?"
Rachel smiled.
"What are you up to, Archie?" Quinn asked softly.
Rachel took one last step toward Quinn, a devious look in her eye, and turned off the flashlight.
..
Somehow – Quinn couldn't remember how – she ended up with her back pressed up against the scratchy bark of a pine tree, about ten yards into the woods off the trail.
Spiders, she thought in alarm, but then Rachel's little tongue was inside her mouth, and she felt quite sure that there were no spiders in the world anywhere any more.
She felt tugged in two different directions, one way toward ripping off Rachel's clothes and the other toward, but what if we get caught? But then Rachel was undoing her bathing suit top and her internal monologue abruptly switched to something like, what are the chances, really, of someone coming by?
Quinn dug her thumbs into the front of Rachel's hip bones and pressed the pads of her fingers into her ass, right at the top of the curve, pulling her open a little. God, she was so tiny. She was this tiny, little, sexy thing; Quinn's hands could go almost all the way around her when she held her here. She grabbed there, held on, gripped, kissed. Hers.
Quinn wasn't even sure when she made the decision to do it, but somehow now Rachel was the one with her back against the tree. She was running her hands all over Rachel's soft, curvy little body, cupping the sharp angle of her chin, molding the softness of her breasts into her palms, running her fingertips over the long line of Rachel's sides from armpit to hip, over the ridges of her ribs, and Rachel was cooing and sighing and canting her hips upward into her.
She hooked her thumbs under the sides of Rachel's bathing suit bottoms, and yanked downwards. Rachel kicked them away. Quinn bent to run her hands along the backs of Rachel's thighs.
Rachel understood, and let Quinn lift her legs, her feet leaving the ground. Her weight was now supported solely by Quinn's hips and new favorite tree.
Rachel was tiny but not light as a feather; there was satisfying weight and pressure, but also the unwieldy-ness of long, taut legs to deal with here, and Quinn struggled to hold her up and get her hand in place at the same time.
So Rachel squeezed, she squeezed Quinn's hips with her thighs, and lifted herself up a few inches. Quinn worked her hand into place, between their bodies, and pressed her body into Rachel and Rachel into the tree.
Mechanics attained, Rachel relaxed her thighs and slid herself down Quinn's fingers.
It was Quinn who moaned, a short, surprised, "Ohh".
Rachel's body somehow shivered and went hot, both, at the sound of it.
It seemed to her that something that got Quinn to make that noise needed to happen once more. She squeezed Quinn's hips again with her thighs, lifted herself off Quinn's fingers. And just as deliberately, she relaxed her thigh muscles little by little, lowering herself back onto them.
She clenched around Quinn's fingers and again got a tiny, whispered "ohhh" into her neck.
The third time Rachel did repeated this process, Quinn pressed her face into the skin of the middle of Rachel's chest and bit at the tops of her breasts, and Rachel had a realization.
Quinn loved it inside of her.
It was tested and confirmed every time Rachel relaxed her thighs and took Quinn in up to the palm of her hand, and Quinn moaned, or grunted, or hurt Rachel deliciously in one place or another with her fingernails.
This realization was not nothing, because, here was the thing. Rachel got called certain words by Quinn Fabray. And 'beautiful" was a nice thing to be called, it really was. "Cute" was also pleasant. There were no spoken "I love you's" here, and Rachel didn't mind that at this stage.
"Hot" was not a word that got used for Rachel, not out loud, despite the moaning and the thrusting inside of her and the touching of everywhere Quinn could reach, and the kissing, god the kissing that was happening right now in the midst of it all.
"Hot" had no place on Quinn's lips because it meant lust, it meant liking to fuck women, it meant liking to taste them and make them come against this damn scratchy pine tree in the woods in the dark. "Hot" meant admitting liking rubbing their insides because of the noises their bodies and their throats made when you did it.
Rachel deserved that word, and she knew she did, and she also knew she wouldn't get it, but maybe she could get a fire out of Quinn that might be just as good.
The noises she was making, the moans and whimpers, they weren't calculated. The decision to make them was deliberate, for sure, but it was all Quinn, the girl touching her, making her sweat and shake, it was Quinn who was making her sing.
"Rachel, your voice," Quinn murmured.
"Make me louder," she panted, "Come on, Quinn." They were alone in the woods for God's sake, not in someone's parents' house, or a bathroom stall, or whatever.
Rachel exaggerated her movements when she had the mental acuity to remember to do it. She twisted her hips a little extra and arched her back to push her breasts closer to Quinn's face.
Rachel's legs, slippery with sweat, fell off of Quinn's hips as she climaxed, and Quinn had to hold her up as she rode it out.
Rachel steadied herself on her feet, leaning against Quinn, letting the dizziness pass. When it did, she reached down and coated her fingertips with the stickiness that covered her clit, and then reached up and drew a line across Quinn's mouth with it.
She held her breath, waiting to see how that would go over. She tittered nervously, suddenly shy, but silently defied Quinn to pretend she hadn't liked it.
Quinn, for her part, had no idea what the fuck had gotten into Rachel. But the way she was staring, with her messy hair and a pout on those lips and her fingertips with her taste on them poking into Quinn's mouth grazing her tongue…
Quinn grabbed Rachel by the hips and turned her around to face the tree.
Rachel let out a cry, one that could have been mistaken for distress but certainly wasn't distress. It was just that her voice was warmed up now, and it would be used freely.
"Are you okay?" Quinn asked, backing away. "I'm sorry."
Rachel didn't say anything at first, her face and upper body pressed against a tree. Without moving, maintaining the position Quinn had put her in, she tossed her hair to one side and turned to look at Quinn over her shoulder.
"Do I look okay, Quinn?"
Quinn swallowed. "What?"
"Do I look okay, Quinn."
"You. . . yes."
"So is this . . is this how you wanted me? Like this?" Rachel asked, arching her back just a little, and separating her legs.
Come on. Admit it, Quinn.
"I think, yes," Quinn whispered, finally.
Quinn stepped forward again. Tentatively, she put the palms of her hands against Rachel's ass.
"Do you like your hands there, Quinn?"
She entered Rachel roughly from behind by way of an answer. Facing the tree, Rachel smiled.
Quinn held her close, the arm that wasn't fucking her wrapped tightly around her chest. She breathed in Rachel's ear, panting with effort, and it made Rachel's knees turn to mush.
"Quinn, God Quinn, yes," Rachel moaned, bouncing her hips to meet the thrust of Quinn's arm.
"Tell me you like fucking me," she said, a pleading in her voice as she stilled herself, the pleasure building inside her.
"I like fucking you," Quinn complied, breathing the words into Rachel's ear.
"Tell me you like when I come."
"God, Rachel," Quinn said as Rachel's body clenched and then softened around her fingers. "I love it."
..
Quinn stood behind her, stroking the side of her face with one hand and holding her around the hips with the other, as Rachel calmed down.
"Ohh, Quinn," Rachel sighed as Quinn kissed the back of her neck. "This is one uncomfortable yet very lucky pine tree."
Quinn smiled, elated, but before she could reply in agreement, a bright light flashed in their eyes from the direction of the trail a few yards away.
"Yo, are you guys done yet?" Santana's voice came, annoyed, from the darkness. "We wants to go home!"
..
"I think I have tree bark in my butt," Rachel said as they made their way back toward the car.
"Sounded like it was worth it from where I was standing," Santana opined.
"I wouldn't trade the erotic passion of the moment for anything," Rachel agreed. "But I do wish we could have maybe thrown down a blanket."
"You could have taken one of ours," Brittany offered. "We wouldn't have noticed."
"Probs not," Santana agreed.
"Well, we're not pervs like the two of you, who hang around while that is going on," Quinn grumbled, more than one level of discomfort currently setting her nerves on edge.
"Oh please, you're lucky I didn't start throwing shit at you. And you're also lucky it was dark or I'd have video gold for blackmailing purposes. Shit, come to think of it I should have made it into a voice memo. Imagine if I had an mp3 with Berry's voice going 'Quinn, Quinn, oh Quinn!' I'd have been set for life with the amount of money Quinn would pay to keep that under wraps."
"Threaten all you want, but I didn't hear Brittany calling your name like that on the beach," Quinn said.
"Oh, really? Um, okay, I don't need her to put on a show for me," Santana countered. "The three orgasms in twenty minutes tells me all I need to know."
"Four," Brittany corrected her.
"Fuck, really?" Santana turned to Brittany, wide-eyed. "I missed one? How did I miss one?"
"Two in a row," Brittany explained.
Santana grabbed the front of Brittany's wrap and pulled her into a kiss. "You are the hottest fucking thing ever," she said. "And also, you need to make sure I know when that's happening. I need to know. Make sure I know."
"Okay, Santana, okay," Brittany said, giggling at Santana in between kisses. "I'll make sure."
"Also, you have sex hair," Santana said, tousling Brittany's messy hair. "Put your towel over it," she said, pulling the towel from around Brittany's shoulders up to cover her head. "I can't look at that. I can't, or I'm gonna give you four more right here in front of Quinnchel. Just, be less hot for a minute."
Behind them, Rachel squeezed Quinn's hand and smiled as Brittany pulled her towel down over her head and wrapped Santana up in a bear hug.
Quinn lifted Rachel's hand to her lips and kissed each one of Rachel's fingertips.
..
"Sorry I wasn't able to, you know, reciprocate," Rachel whispered to Quinn as Santana and Brittany got into the car. "I'll make it up to you as soon as we get home."
"I hope Brittany drives fast," Quinn sighed, and Rachel could see for the first time in the dim glow of the overhead light of the car just how flushed Quinn's lips and cheeks were.
Santana passed out a mere five minutes into the drive. Brittany seemed to be occupied with tapping the steering wheel and singing along to anything that came on the radio (whether she knew the words or not). Rachel curled up against Quinn beneath a blanket in the back seat.
"Bite your hand," she whispered. "Don't make any noise."
Rachel pulled aside Quinn's bathing suit and sank her fingers into Quinn's wetness before she could protest. Quinn had to cover her gasp with a cough.
"Bless you," Santana murmured from the front seat, shifting in her sleep.
Rachel smiled and bit her bottom lip. Quinn stared down at her, eyes heavy, mouth half open.
Rachel didn't tease. She would do this correctly later, but for now, Quinn needed release.
It wasn't easy, knowing what was working when Quinn couldn't make any noise or move much. Rachel closed her eyes and worked Quinn's clit with her fingertips, letting muscle memory guide her.
Right around the time Brittany was merging back onto the interstate, Rachel's efforts were rewarded. Quinn's stomach muscles tightened against Rachel's side, and Rachel could see the grimace on her face in the flashes of passing headlights. She came with a "mmmff," she wasn't able to suppress, and kneed the back of Santana's seat.
"Sorry," Quinn said sheepishly, trying to sound as though she weren't breathless, as Santana sat up in the front seat. "I had one of those dreams where you're falling and you jolt awake."
Santana blinked at them blearily. "Yeah, well, try to control yourself, would you? I'm trying to sleep up here."
"It's your fault for interrupting us in the woods," Rachel said under her breath.
Quinn laughed silently, and leaned over and kissed the top of Rachel's head.
..
An hour and a half later, Rachel was brushing her teeth in Quinn's bathroom. Quinn leaned against the wall, watching her.
"I want to ask you something," she said.
Rachel straightened, meeting Quinn's eyes in the mirror, and stopped brushing. This sounded like a happy Quinn. Certainly the night had gone well. But anytime Quinn built suspense, one could never be certain what was about to come out of her mouth.
"Rachel, a few months ago when I was still with Finn, I told my cousin Sherie I was bringing a date to her wedding. Obviously that's not happening, but I realized the other day that I still have a plus one."
Rachel whirled around to face Quinn.
"You would have to come as my friend, obviously, but. . . Rachel, do you want to go with me?"
Rachel didn't speak, on account of the toothpaste and surprise. But she threw her arms around Quinn, and Quinn smiled, hugging her tight.
"It's next Saturday, though, Rach," she added. "It could conflict with rehearsal."
"I don't care," Rachel mumbled, and gave Quinn a toothpastey kiss on the cheek. "I think I got toothpaste in your hair, though."
Quinn laughed. "I don't care, either."
...
Wednesday, July 13 / 10:34 pm
Rachel sat at the desk in her room staring at her phone.
This was not good. The fact that it wasn't buzzing, and hadn't buzzed all day, was very, very not good.
She picked it up again and dialed Santana.
"Berry."
"Santana, have you heard from Quinn?"
"When?"
"This week."
"You haven't heard from Quinn all week?"
"The last text I got from her was Saturday night, about an hour after I left her house."
"Shit, Berry, it's Wednesday. Did you call Judy to make sure she isn't dead?"
"This morning. She said Quinn was busy with school work and her internship."
"Britt, have you seen Quinn this week?
"Britt says she canceled SAT tutoring yesterday. Maybe you better go over there, Berry."
"I don't think so," Rachel said. "Thanks Santana."
She paused. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm so rude. How was USC?"
"Fucking amazing. Those bitches know what's up."
"I'm glad you liked it."
"Thanks, Berry. Call me when you hear from Quinn, right?"
"Right."
Rachel hung up feeling sick to her stomach. This was really not good.
...
Sunday, July 17 / 2:02am
Rachel's phone finally buzzed with a message from Quinn late Saturday night. She was still awake, barely, watching classic movies on TCM.
"Quinn?" she said frantically, nearly juggling the phone right out of her grasp with her shaking hands.
"Rachel, I'm . . .I'm ready to . . . talk to you now."
"Quinn, are you drunk?"
"Yuuup. Very, very, verrrrrry."
"Quinn, can I come over?"
"No."
"What did you want to talk about?"
"I have to. . . to ask you something."
"Okay. Okay, I'm listening Quinn."
"The night in the woods, Rachel."
"Yeah? W-What about it?"
"Why was it different, Rachel?"
"I don't . . . what do you mean?"
"You know what I mean."
"Quinn, I really don't."
"It was different. You were different. It wasn't like that before, and it wasn't like that since."
"How so?"
"You were like . . . you liked it more. You were all. . . crazy."
Rachel's cheeks flushed a little. "I thought you liked it."
"But it's true, right?" Quinn goaded. "You liked it more."
"Not exactly," Rachel hedged.
"I know why, though. You thought I wouldn't know about it, but I do."
"You know about what, Quinn?" Rachel asked, nausea welling up in her stomach. She had no idea where Quinn was going with this, but the tone in her voice made it clear that wherever it was going, Rachel was going to have a very hard time defending herself successfully.
"I knowwww that it was because of Santana."
"Santana? Quinn, what in hell are you talking about?"
"We saw them," Quinn said. "Together. You saw them and you were thinking about her fucking you instead of me, and DON'T tell me you weren't."
"Quinn," Rachel said, holding down a building hysteria to keep her voice level. "That is not true. It's not true at all, Quinn. Listen to me, you're really drunk, okay? And you don't believe me, but none of what you're saying right now makes any sense. I didn't see anything, no more than you did, and even if I had it would have nothing to do with what happened between you and me, okay? Quinn? Quinn, can I please come and see you?"
"No."
"Okay, Quinn, look," Rachel said, her voice breaking. "I promise. I promise you that what happened between you and me in the woods that night was all about you and me. I promise you that, okay? You don't have to worry about that – I don't want Santana, I want you. Are you listening, Quinn?"
There was a long silence during which Rachel was pretty sure she heard the muffled "glug" of Quinn chugging from a bottle of something.
"You don't understand anything, Rachel."
"I. . . How am I supposed to respond to that, Quinn?" Rachel asked desperately. "What do you mean by that?"
"You don't understand ANYTHING about me. You push, and push, and push, and try to make everything happen all how you want it to."
Rachel felt truly sick now, partially because she knew Quinn had left the realm of the absurd and was knocking on the door of the truth.
"I'm so, so sorry about that, Quinn. It's something I'm working on. I can try harder, I can. You know I can, right?"
"I thhhink it's too late. Tooooo late."
"Quinn, don't say that, okay? Listen to me – are you listening?"
"I'm not sure if I am or not."
Rachel shook her head in frustration. "Quinn, think about who I am, please? I'm your Rachel. I'm.. . I'm your Archie. And all I want to be is the person you can talk to, okay? I've been that person before, even before anything happened for real with us. You know that – I know you know that. Maybe it's not easy for me to understand what you're going through, but I'm trying so hard, Quinn, to still be that person, I promise. I want to understand."
Silence rang again in Rachel's left ear.
"Quinn," Rachel said, in desperation. "Do you remember what I said to you last weekend, after we had that fight after the wedding?"
"You said you loved me," Quinn answered immediately, but flatly.
"Right," Rachel said, relieved that she remembered it. "That's right. I do, Quinn, I love you."
"You don't."
Rachel broke into tears in earnest, now.
"Quinn, fuck - how can you say that?"
"Because you THINK so, maybe, but you don't KNOW me. It doesn't matter if we like being together. It's not the same thing."
"No. No, that's not true. I love you. And look, Quinn, I love you even though it isn't easy. And I do know you, okay? You're really mean sometimes, and you're mad a lot, and that's okay. But I try so hard to make you happy, and sometimes it works. It works sometimes, right? Remember? You have to let me keep trying. Quinn, just let me try."
Rachel heard a muffled sound on the other end of the line, but no words.
"Quinn? Are you crying? Quinn, please just let me come see you. Please. We can fix this."
"Rachel, no. . . no, we can't. It's too much, it's too fast. I just. . . I need it to stop. I can't take it anymore."
"Quinn, what are you saying? Why are you saying this?"
"I am so tired of being scared ALL the time. I can't. . . I can't take it anymore, Rachel. I want someone else."
Rachel's voice caught in her throat, and she gagged, nearly throwing up. "There's someone else?" she squeaked.
"I'm – I am sorry, Rachel." Quinn sounded lucid for the first time since the conversation began.
"You're sorry? Well, who is it? Who is she Quinn, because I don't care who it is, she won't be better than me."
"It's not a SHE."
Rachel dropped her phone without hanging up, and flung herself face down on her bed, sobbing.
...
Saturday, July 23 / 7:22pm
Rachel worked her way through an entire box of Kleenexes over two days at Brittany's house, where she slept on the couch in the family room. Brittany, Santana, and Gail brought her everything they could think of to eat and drink. They would come back an hour later to find whatever it was primarily untouched.
It wasn't that she was in a constant, hysterical state. It was more of a low-grade zombie brand of misery, like a gnawing at the pit of her stomach that shot up between her shoulder blades once in a while, and kicked off a new round of sobbing. Sometimes she was conscientious enough to deposit her used tissues in the wastebasket Mrs. Pierce had provided. Other times they dotted the furniture-scape around her like oversized confetti.
This was one of the latter times. Rachel, in her ridiculous lady bug pajamas, had passed out face down while she was supposed to be eating dinner. Santana, observing glumly from the nearby recliner, snapped a photo. She tapped "MMS" and then a "Q."
She didn't get a reply.
...
Saturday, July 8th / 3:00pm
Quinn's cousin happened to be getting married in Defiance, Ohio on the hottest day of the year thus far. Even with the air conditioning on in Mrs. Fabray's car, the sun baked Rachel's skin through the windows. She touched her hands absently to her forehead, where the humidity was curling tiny strands of frizz away from her perfectly arranged upsweep.
"You look fine, Rachel," Quinn said, eyeing her in the rearview mirror. Rachel smiled. In front of her mother, this was Quinn's way of telling Rachel she looked pretty.
Judy didn't like driving in unfamiliar towns, so Quinn had volunteered.
"We have to keep her occupied in the car," Quinn had warned that morning as they did their makeup in Quinn's bathroom. "She's going to put on a front, but she's freaked out about seeing my father today."
"Do you get up to Defiance to see your sister very much, Mrs. Fabray?" Rachel asked, in the spirit of idle distraction.
"Ohhh," Judy sighed, glancing back at Rachel from the front passenger seat. "No, not too often. Russell never liked to put miles on the cars, but Cindy always brought the kids down for Thanksgiving. Sometimes for Easter, too. I'd cook a ham and Russell would organize all the kids for an Easter egg hunt. Quinnie always won, every year, even though she was the youngest. "
"Easter egg hunts always looked like so much fun," Rachel smiled.
"Oh, your family never put them on?" Judy asked, surprised.
"Umm. . .no, I—"
"Rachel's Jewish, mom," Quinn said.
"Oh."
"Well, on one dad's side," Rachel clarified. "And my biological mom is half Jewish, too. Anyway, we didn't celebrate Easter but we'd always have big family get-togethers for Passover, though, just like you guys and Easter. Even my other dad's family on the non-Jewish side would come. It's a wonderful time of year for everyone, I think," she said with forced cheerfulness.
Rachel wasn't sure why she had just said all of that, or how much of what she'd just said had sunk in. Quinn's eyes refused to meet hers in the mirror anymore.
"Sounds . . . festive," Judy said.
Rachel nodded and turned her gaze out the window. She decided she was done making small talk for now.
Forty-five minutes later, Rachel found that she had never been so glad to pull up to a church parking lot. The lobby of the church was mercifully cool, and small groups of friends and relatives stood in pockets of reacquaintance, complaining about the heat.
Rachel knew right away which one was Quinn's sister, even before Quinn and her mother made a beeline for the gorgeous blonde in the coral dress.
"Rachel, this is my sister Fran," Quinn said, "And her husband Thomas. Frannie, this is my friend Rachel."
Rachel shook their hands and told them how nice it was to meet them. "How far along are you?" she asked Frannie, swallowing her surprise.
"Just over five months," Frannie beamed. "I'm finally getting over the morning sickness, so now it's just the hormones and the heat making me uncomfortable."
"It'll all be worth it when she's here," an older woman standing nearby offered. "You just hang in there Francesca. We're all waiting with bated breath."
"Don't put too much pressure on her, Mother," Judy scolded. "It's not good for her."
"It's my first grandbaby! I am well within my rights to put as much pressure on her as I want. Right, Frannie?"
"Grandma, this is my friend Rachel," Quinn said calmly, not missing a beat. "I brought her as my guest, since Finn and I broke up."
"Nice to meet you, Rachel. Do you go to school with Quinnie?"
"Yes ma'am, we became friends in Glee Club."
"So you must know this Finn character? What's wrong with that boy that he would let my granddaughter get away so easily?"
"Well, I suppose when Quinn decides she's ready to move on, there's not much anyone can do."
Quinn's grandmother laughed. "She is a stubborn one."
"Let's take our seats, girls," Judy said. Rachel thought it couldn't be a coincidence that she hurried them into the chapel just as she caught her first glimpse of Russell Fabray out of the corner of her eye.
...
"Sherie and Donovan, welcome," the minister said to begin the ceremony. "Today you have chosen to gather here with your friends and family to share in the joy of this day, the day when the two of you commit to each other in holy matrimony.
The Bible teaches us that love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. For those gathered here today who don't know, Sherie and Donovan met when they were just sixteen years old. Together they navigated the waters of high school and college, never wavering in their commitment to one another, even though for four years they saw each other only on weekends and breaks from school. Now, six years later, in front of the loved ones who guided them in their youth and supported them in their relationship through difficult times, they make a sacred vow of commitment to one another.
Sherie, Donovan – there is a vast and unknown future stretching out before you. The possibilities and potentials of your married life are great; it falls upon your shoulders the task of choosing your values and making your dreams come true.
Through your commitment to each other, may you grow and nurture a love that makes both of you better people. May you cultivate a love that continues to give you great joy, as it has for years already. May it provide you with a passion for living that fuels you with energy and bestows upon you patience to face the responsibilities of life, together."
In the romance of the moment, Rachel wanted desperately to take Quinn's hand.
She lifted the fingers of her left hand, the one closest to Quinn, a few inches off her knee.
She felt tears sting her eyes as Quinn returned the gesture with the fingers of her right hand.
"As I gaze upon the faces gathered in this church, I see so much love," the minister continued. "And I ask that when the two of you remember together your wedding day, you always bring to mind this feeling of how loved you are. Rely on these friends, these members of your family. The marriage between one man and one woman is the cornerstone of God's plan for mankind. The people in this room understand that, and will do everything they can to embrace, support, and grow the love you share.
Let us pause for the first reading from the book of Corinthians. "
...
Quinn and Rachel sat in silence at one of the large, round tables in the reception hall. Quinn gazed longingly at the open bar. Rachel picked through her pasta salad, poking aside the hunks of chicken.
"Quinn," Judy said quietly, or as quietly as she could and still be heard over the terrible disco music blaring from the dance floor, "Have you said hello to your father yet?"
Quinn gazed in his direction, where two tables over Russell was sitting alone, scowling at the drink in his hand.
"I don't even understand why he's here," Quinn replied testily. "It's not his family anymore."
"He's here because your cousin Sherie invited him. Go say hi."
"You're only making me do this so he doesn't come over here."
Judy stared icily at her daughter. Quinn turned on her heel and strode toward her father's table.
"I'm going to get a drink," Judy said. "Would you like another 7-Up, Rachel?"
"No, thank you Mrs. Fabray," Rachel said.
Out of her peripheral vision, Rachel watched Quinn slide into a chair next to her father, who only partially acknowledged her presence. They talked. He glanced once in her direction, a look of disapproval on his face, and Quinn returned in an even worse mood than before.
"He asked about me, didn't he?" Rachel said.
Quinn nodded. "Sort of. He knew who you were already, actually. He said, 'why did I bring that Jewish girl who lives with the homosexuals to my cousin's wedding?'"
"Wow, that's . . . weird and a little creepy."
"Don't take it personally. He keeps tabs on all the undesirable elements in town, not just your family."
"I feel much better, then."
Quinn was very, very sorry she had asked Rachel to come to this wedding. It was one of the dumber things she'd done lately, she decided, and that was really saying something. Damn Rachel and her stupid, perfect Fourth of July.
On the dance floor, the DJ was calling for couples as he started a sappy 80's ballad. Rachel glanced at Quinn sadly. Quinn, her jaw set in a tight frown, didn't return the glance.
Even with a pout, Quinn thought, Rachel looked so beautiful. If they could just hide themselves under an invisibility cloak for one song and hold each other on the dance floor, this day could still be salvaged. Quinn conjured the image in her mind.
"Would you like to dance?"
"Me?" Rachel asked the cute, blonde boy who stood by their table.
He nodded.
Quinn officially wanted to punch every single person she was related to.
"Rachel, this is my cousin Jonah. Jonah, Rachel."
"Go dance, Rachel," Judy said, returning with two glasses of clear, bubbly liquid. "No reason to sit here and be bored with us girls."
Rachel could not possibly want to dance less with this boy. But it was surely easier, and easier to explain, to just go along with it. She rose reluctantly and followed Jonah to the dance floor.
Quinn took one of Judy's drinks and promptly slurped it down, not giving one fuck about the appalled look on her mother's face.
...
Later that night, Quinn and Rachel lay side by side in Quinn's bed, exhausted, still dressed up in everything but their uncomfortable shoes.
"Your sister was really nice," Rachel said.
"Was she?"
"She came up to me while you were in the bathroom and told me it was nice meeting me and that she loved my dress."
"She's usually not that friendly. She must have really liked you."
"So, why didn't you tell me she was pregnant?" Rachel asked quietly.
"I don't know," Quinn shrugged. "Because I think it's stupid. They're too young."
"How old?"
"She's 23, he's 24."
"When did they meet?"
"High school."
Rachel smiled. "That seems to happen a lot in your family. Sherie and Donovan, Frannie and Thomas. Do all of you meet the loves of your lives in high school?" She rolled onto her belly, looking down at Quinn.
"Quit being cute," Quinn said. "I'm not in the mood."
"I know it's a lifetime away," Rachel said, kissing her cheek. "But someday that could be us, right?"
"What could be us?" Quinn asked warily.
"Getting married. I'm not saying that's what you want or what I want," she added hurriedly. "Just that . . . I don't know. It could be us, too. It certainly fits your family tradition."
"Oh God, Rachel," Quinn rolled her eyes. "Tell me, what's the weather like where you live? What color is the sky?"
"I'm just daydreaming, Quinn. Don't you ever do that?"
Quinn sat up. "No, not when it's pointless. That's never going to be us, Rachel. I can't believe after today you don't see that."
Rachel sat up next to her, trying not to feel like Quinn had just put a little crack in her heart. "Why are you getting so mad, Quinn?"
"It's just not how it works," Quinn said. "The fact that you think we'd ever get, you know, the white dresses with the whispers in the seats about how beautiful we look. . . well, it's ridiculous. We don't get the photo albums or the crying grandparents, or the teary-eyed fathers walking us down the aisle. Or, or the big, expensive reception, or the family there to celebrate. You know, we don't get to force our families to dress up and take a day out of their lives to celebrate us. We don't get my church's blessing. We don't get support."
Quinn was on the verge of crying. Rachel felt the tendrils of panic wrap around her insides. Not again.
Quinn paused, looked into Rachel's eyes, and nodded.
"One man, one woman. You heard him."
"It doesn't have to be that way, Quinn," Rachel said. "There are so many communities who would celebrate you being with me – being with a woman."
"God Rachel, just stop. You never get it," Quinn said, rubbing her temples.
"No, I do get it, Quinn. We'll never get the acceptance we want from your family, or your church. I recognize that and I know that that's awful. But if there's one thing I've learned from my dads, it's that sometimes, you know, you have to make your own family."
"I already have a family. I already have a church," Quinn said in a low, tired voice. "And whatever, it's fine, you know. I don't expect you to get it, Rachel. How could you, because you don't understand what it's like to believe."
"I believe in God just like you," Rachel said half-heartedly, recognizing even as she said it that it wasn't the point at all.
"Just, listen to me. Get it through your head. We will never have a wedding, Rachel, because I am tired of having to ask for forgiveness. I spent a year after my daughter was born doing that. Asking for forgiveness. Forgiveness from God, from my family, from the people at my church."
She inhaled a ragged breath. "And from my daughter. Do you know what it's like to feel like you have to ask forgiveness for making a person?"
Rachel blinked. "No. No, of course I don't. But Quinn, I'm confused about what this has to do with getting married."
Tears fell from Quinn's cheeks onto the sheets, and her shoulders started to shake. Rachel wrapped Quinn up in her arms, her head swimming.
"I know you and Santana and everyone, you all think I should just leave," Quinn continued. "Just move on and forget them. But I belong with my church. I need my church. I need it more than ever now, because I have to ask forgiveness for everything," she said. "For every day that I love you. For every time I have sex with you. For every time I lie and tell someone that you're my friend, because lying about it is a sin, too. We don't get a wedding, Rachel, because how can I ask people to celebrate something that they all know is wrong? We just . . . we don't get the same things, Rachel, and it's stupid to pretend that we do."
There were a million things Rachel could have said about the perverse logic of Quinn's religious beliefs.
But only one sentiment made it out of her mouth as she held Quinn while she sobbed.
"I love you too, Quinn," she said, hugging her tight. "Quinn, I love you, too."