Hello! The semester is over, so expect to hear more from this story! Inspiration is bountiful after Tuesday's episode. :) Enjoy!
Quinn lay in bed, watching the numbers of the clock change from one AM to two, three, four. She hadn't slept well in days, not since her fight with Rachel. Although she knew that what Rachel said about her relationship to Beth should have been on the forefront of her mind, she instead couldn't stop thinking about what Rachel had said the day before, after the Sunday matinee.
The two of them had spent Saturday's performance in a very uncomfortable silence. Rachel seemed to move back and forth between looking furious and looking completely shattered. Quinn looked so hangdog that Jason threatened to send her home if she didn't stop infecting the cast with her negative energy. Every time Rachel and Quinn were in the same room, the temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees, so they avoided each other. At first, Quinn was relieved. She was ashamed of hurting Rachel, and embarrassed at the things Rachel had accused her of. But after spending the Sunday matinee in the same hostile environment, she decided to try and apologize. After all, Rachel had forgiven her for all the slushies and name-calling. She decided to ignore the part of her conscience that said that this time was different, because of their friendship, and because of the Target incident.
After the final curtain call, Quinn performed her post-show duties at the speed of light, re-setting costumes, checking props back in to the prop cabinet, and giving Jason her notes for the report. Rachel used to wait for her to finish during technical rehearsals and after the opening night performance, but now Quinn would have to hurry if she wanted to catch the tiny singer before she went home. Quinn checked the dressing room and lobby before jogging out onto the sidewalk, under a sky heavy with rainclouds. She spotted Rachel unlocking her car and ran over to her.
"Rach, hold on," she put her hand on the car door so Rachel couldn't open it, "Please just talk to me."
"Why, so you can manipulate me some more? Do you have yet another self-serving plan I can assist you with? Preferably something related to an emotionally traumatic aspect of my own life. Please, Quinn, tell me what I can do you for." The brunette's eyes were burning with anger.
"Rachel, please, just listen. When I first saw you were in this show, yeah, I wanted to use you to get to Beth," Quinn began, holding up her hand when she saw Rachel open her mouth in a rage, "But that was before we became friends, and I realized how much I like you. As a friend." Quinn finished quickly. "I am so sorry that I hurt you."
"You're sorry now," Rachel spat out, and Quinn was horrified to see the tears welling up in those big brown eyes, "Now that you know me and we're friends. And you let me kiss you," Quinn glanced around the empty street nervously as Rachel went on, "But before you couldn't have cared less if you walked all over my feelings. This is not how I expected this to go at all."
Quinn looked back around at her quickly. "How you expected what to go?" Rachel looked completely panicked. In her surprise, Quinn had moved her hand away from the car, and now Rachel had opened it and was climbing into the driver's seat.
"Rachel, wait, how you expected what to go? What do you mean?" But Rachel was already pulling into the street as a clap of thunder sounded and the skies opened up, drenching Quinn in a matter of seconds. But the ex-cheerleader continued to stand on the curb, different explanations for Rachel's words flooding her mind as rivulets of water streamed down the back of her neck.
Now, hours later, Quinn lay snuggled between warm blankets, curiosity pulling her mind in several directions. What on earth did Rachel mean? Had Quinn herself been in some devious plot of Rachel's, now gone awry? Was Rachel as confused by all these feelings as Quinn was? Was she even feeling those emotions? These questions mixed with the burning guilt she felt in her stomach until sleep became impossible. She lay there until her heard her mother moving around downstairs, then went to greet her.
"Hi, Mom," Quinn said to the open refrigerator door as she entered the kitchen. The door closed, and Russell Fabray turned to face her with a carton of milk in his hand. He was wearing boxers and an undershirt under the bathrobe that had been hanging, unused, in his closet for months. It was as if the last year had never happened. Quinn froze.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, the sight of his face making her stomach turn.
"What a kind welcome home," Russell said with a sneer. "I suppose you're not going to thank me for taking care of your mother these past few weeks."
"Taking care of her?" Quinn raged, throwing her hands up in exasperation, "What do you think I've been doing for the past four months?"
"Letting her drink herself into the ground, apparently," Russell mused, pouring the milk into the bowl of cereal on the counter. "And before you go patting yourself on the back, let's not forget whose disgraceful behavior drove her to that end."
Quinn scowled and stormed into her mother's room, which was empty. Stalking back into the kitchen, she demanded, "Where's Mom?"
"Volunteering at the church. She told me you haven't been to services in months, it's disappointing to see that you have turned your heart against God."
Quinn felt like she was stuck in a nightmare. She pounded up the stairs, changing into jeans and a t shirt and pulled on her Cheerio's sneakers. She thrust her cell phone and keys into her pocket before running back down the stairs and out the door before Russell could intercept her.
She couldn't believe this. Driving down the road away from her house, unsure of where to go, all the signs she'd been too distracted to see clicked together in her mind. Her mother's sudden happiness, her sobriety. Quinn hadn't thought to question them at the time, but now she realized how blindly she'd been celebrating her mother's health. Millions of questions flooded her head, like whether Russell would kick her out again, or whether her mother would stand up for her this time. She wanted to scream, she wanted to talk to someone. She wanted Rachel, but the thought of showing up on the brunette's doorstep looking like an emotional wreck and being turned away made her steer clear of the Berry house.
Instead, she found herself pulling into Finn's driveway. Big, dumb, puppy dog Finn, who looked like someone broke his favorite action figure whenever she was around. Things weren't perfect with him, but at least he knew firsthand what Russell was like. Besides, if he didn't want to talk to her, she could take it. She couldn't handle watching Rachel's retreating back one more time.
She tentatively knocked on the front door, trying to think of what she was going to say and second-guessing her decision to come here. Finn was probably still angry at her, even though they hadn't seen each other in months. She was thankful Mrs. Hudson was at work as the door swung open and Finn filled the doorframe.
"What are you doing here?" he said after a moment, looking angry and confused. Quinn immediately regretted knocking on the door.
"I just…my dad…" she stumbled, suddenly realizing that she was doing right now what Rachel had accused her of opening night. Here she was, using Finn as refuge and therapist when she had already hurt him in so many ways. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, "I shouldn't have come here."
"Finn? Who is it?" Quinn felt her stomach drop as Rachel came into view behind Finn, who moved aside a little and put his arm around her. Rachel looked haughty and angry for a moment before she saw the anguish on Quinn's face, her reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks.
"Quinn?" But Quinn was already running back towards her car. Behind her, she heard Finn say, "Come on, Rach."
Anger, hurt, and jealousy overwhelmed Quinn as she climbed back into her car and roared out of the driveway. She had nowhere to go, the theatre was dark until the Wednesday night show, and she couldn't face her father for two whole days. Pulling the car to the side of the road a few blocks from her house, she scrolled through her phone desperately looking for someone who was still talking to her. If Finn was any indication of the general sentiment towards her in the Glee club, then Kurt, Artie, and Tina were probably out. She and Santana hadn't gotten along in ages, so Brittany wouldn't be any help, either. Puck was completely out of the question, and even though she and Mercedes were on good terms, she couldn't imagine imposing on her again. The fact that the other girl had yet to make contact with her since she moved out was proof enough that she needed her space. That only left one person.
As she dialed Jason's number, she realized that once again she had gone through everyone she knew, looking for someone to use, but she was desperate enough to ignore the return of the stabbing guilt long enough to talk to Jason.
When she returned home to grab some of her things, her mother had already finished volunteering and was sitting on the couch with Russell, who was reading the paper as if it were just any day, and he hadn't turned her away and then left with his secretary. Both of her parents looked up and smiled at her as she entered the living room.
"Hello, Quinnie," Russell said cheerfully. She stared at him, then at her mother, who was beaming at her.
"Don't you have a job, or a secretary, to get back to?" Quinn sneered, unable to contain her anger at her father's two-facedness.
"Quinn! Your father came home because he wants to try again, because he loves us. We'll be able to be a family again! Don't ruin this." Her mother hissed the last part at her as her smile became a grimace. Russell merely looked on with a bemused smirk.
"Don't you ruin it!" Quinn heard her voice rise in pitch hysterically, "We were a family, me and you. He came back because his secretary probably doesn't let him treat her like shit, like you do."
"Quinnie, don't speak to your mother like that. I know I've done wrong, but we all have sins. And I love you both very much." Russell's words were like honeyed venom. Quinn ran up the stairs, tripping on the last one and smacking her knee on the wooden floor of the landing. She swore loudly and charged to her room, grabbing her old Cheerios duffel bag and filling it with clothes and sundry items as she heard her father's footsteps on the stairs. She finally filled her school bag with her laptop and the binder she was keeping all the paperwork for the show in.
"It's for the best," Russell said from the doorway, "Your disgraceful sins bring too much down on your mother. She was falling apart because of you."
Quinn packed her phone charger and grabbed her bags, waiting for him to move out of her way, looking through him.
"If you come back again, she'll drink herself to death. Just remember that." He stepped aside, and Quinn forced herself to walk calmly down the stairs, back through the living room. Judy stood up at the sight of the bags.
"Oh, Quinnie, don't go again, it'll be alright, you'll see," she began. Quinn looked at her.
"Don't go again? Do you remember me having a choice the first time? Mom, why can't you see that he's the one who causes all of the problems?"
But Judy Fabray just stood there, wringing her hands, and she remained there for long minutes after her daughter had disappeared through the front door.